Dust to Dust
by Quillweave
Summary: A young woman finds herself in a tangled web of love, family and betrayal, and her story is weaved amongst them. Lucien/OC
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note**: Remember me? Dust to Dust was a story I posted some time back. I've decided to rewrite it entirely, giving it more details and making Dust's tale as vivid as I can. Reviews are naturally love.

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My first memory is of my own tiny hands swallowed in another's, pounding on the taut hide of a drum as flickers of magicka danced around us. Warm arms around me, the roughness of my teacher's burlap collar tickling my neck, murmuring encouragement as the flickers of light grew stronger. I remember my fists thrumming from the power of the drum's calls as his belly-laugh made bass, Nordic rhymes echoing with the scent of tobacco and mead. The wind whistled through straw-stuffed holes, delicious thrills of cold shocking me as the winds howled through cracks, warmed quickly again by the blazing fire.

"Gabby," my teacher would chuckle, capturing my hands again as I began to flail wildly. "Not so fast 'er, cub. Remember words, too, eh?"

I would giggle and concentrate, teeth sinking into my lip as the spell blossomed and bloomed again. When I began to yawn and whine he would laugh again, raising a bristly brow and hoisting me over his shoulder. _'He wouldn't have crossed the room,'_ mum told me, _'before you'd be sound asleep in his arms.' _

Falrung Spark-Eater, my tutor and dearest friend in the hovels of old High Rock. A bear of a man, gold-maned with a wide grin and hair he would always let me braid. With a lap enough for both my sister and I, we would sit together, Anya rocking and cooing to her corn dollie while mum, papa and Falrung would talk into the night. On the coldest of nights we would stay together until dawn, because it was the warmest room in the house, because even without a bed or blankets mum's gentle whispers and papa's hand in my hair was enough to send me to sleep.

"Gabriel. Wake up, sweet."

"Mmmf." I grumbled, curling into a tight ball and shrugging away the hand on my shoulder. "_Sleepy."_

"Your father is here."

"Papa?" I blinked awake, lurching from the bedroll and untangling myself from the sheets as Anya yawned, mum sighed and smiled. I glanced back, my small hands fidgeting. "Mumma?"

"You had bad dreams again, Gabby?" Mum tutted, smoothing a cool hand over my brow. "Maybe Falrung can help next time. Come on, then. Anya?" Mum moved past me, giving my sister's ruffled hair a playful tug. "Up, girls, don't keep him waiting."

Our bare feet padded across the stained floor, the door bursting open just as we met it. Anya jumped into papa's arms as I watched, blinking at the potions in his arms before moving to him and clawing at his tunic. "Uppy?"

"Uppy." Pa grinned, his hair bristled and snow spotted as he hoisted us both. His smile was always bright, and I remember how smooth his cheeks were compared to Falrung's. He smelled of something distant and chemical, like tombs and old flowers, his wiry hands capturing my sister's and mine before kissing both our wrists. I went wide-eyed at the curl of rope over his shoulder, reaching for the basket and potions it held.

"_Stop_ it, Gabby." My sister reproached, her lips in a pout as she leaned to my father's cheek for a kiss. We competed fiercely for our father's attention in the little time he was home - I still nursed a bruise on my arm from our last child-fight. I leaned in, too, kissing his other cheek and reaching again for the dangling basket.

"My, such love I get." Papa chuckled, sliding us off and turning to mum, moving the tempting potions from my little hands again. "From the chapel. Sell them in the market."

Mum only nodded, glancing up and down my father with a strange twist of a frown. "Of course. Get dressed, Anya." My sister raced off, grabbing her clogs for her daily trip into the strange, loud streets haunted with beggars and ringing of baker's calls. I stepped forward, moving to my father's leg and holding him close, smiling to myself as he rubbed my hair.

Mum watched as Anya dressed, then turned to us, her arms crossed, hair loose and dangling inky black around her shoulders. Her eyes cast onto me, then papa, not quite smiling. "Is - her tutor coming tonight?"

"Yes. When we get back from the chapel."

My neck bristled, because something didn't_ feel _right - there was no warmness between them, no laughter. Mum's laugh had become harder and crackly, like snow crunching underfoot, since Falrung taught me how to cast a flicker of a fire spell. I held it on my tongue, hot and blistering, shielding my fears in the rough warmth of papa's leg until his hand gently moved me away. "You get dressed too_._ I don't have long."

I obeyed, grabbing my own clothes and changing quickly, trying to ignore the niggling itch of starchy cloth I never quite got used to. Anya skipped ahead of me, moving to mum's side and taking the basket of rolls and bread by the door as mum shouldered the potions. "Goodbye, _cherie_. Listen and learn well."

I waved goodbye as mum left, papa gazing after her with a snow-fall quiet sigh until he reached for my hand. I took his and frowned as I followed him down the street, a feeling worse than itchy clothes wriggling in my stomach. I fretted, whining quietly until papa glanced down at me, his warm hand tightening as the wind blew our footsteps away. "What is it?"

With a shock, I realized, and jumped with clenched fists as I realized. "You forgot. Kiss mumma goodbye, you_ forgot_." I whimpered, gazing up at him and biting my lip at his strange, broken smile.

"It's alright, sweet." He murmured, leading me on to the stone steps of the chapel. "I'll give her an extra one tonight."

"Tonight." I frowned. "Farun?"

"Falrung? Yes, he'll be coming. With his stories." Papa grinned, truly grinned, reaching down to gather me and pressing his shoulder against the great chapel door. "And you'll pour the wine, won't you?"

I giggled, wriggling until I could close my arms around him and play with the feathery wisps of hair at the back of his neck. "Yes!"

"And make it sweeter for us. Good girl." He kissed my brow, shadows falling around us as the chapel door fell shut. The world echoed strangely within, tiles beneath my feet cold and foreign, the stained glass gods staring upon me somehow unforgiving. I followed as we moved to the healing room, our footsteps shadowed and flickering in candlelight. He paused when we reached the door, leaning his forehead against it and sighing. A moan came from within, guttural and pained, a sound I had grown used to in becoming my father's apprentice. "Ready?"

I smiled, wanting nothing more to please. "Yes!"


	2. Chapter Two

The smells of wormwood and Mournhoth's sheep-wool mingled as I stood by my father's side, watching as he took a skein of clean, downy wool and poured a potion that made my nose crinkle. Papa sighed as he wrung it gently, the smoothing away ratty blankets that lay folded across a frail patient's back. I watched wide-eyed as the man's shoulders lay bare, sharp and liver-spotted, raw and blistered. He gave a cry and moved as papa pressed the medicine against his scabs, father sighing and gentling a healing spell into the old man's head.

"Rest, friend. You are safe."

"Whe-where?" The old man croaked, trying to turn, but only managing to helplessly flop his head on the pillow.

"The Chapel of Stendarr. His mercy be upon you."

"Jacques." The old man gasped, lifting a curled finger as a smile bared his near toothless gums. "Old friend. Always taking care of me." He coughed, chest heaving, eyes bulging out of his head as my father clapped him on the back. "Eugh. And your little girl." His eyes crinkled, the hand reaching for my cheek. I drew away, frightened, but father's hand on my back stilled me. "So _nice_ to see."

"No more talking, George." Papa gently reprimanded. "You need to rest. Say goodbye, Gabby."

I swallowed, staring at the old man as he fell back, his breath drawn as though through grit. _"Bye."_

Many of papa's patients were the same - old, frail, withered. I stood solemnly by his side as he administered healing to them all, beginning to fidget as the final dark-eyed boy fell to sleep. Papa caught my fingers, chuckling quietly as he led me from the sleeping room into the sealed off place he called his hideaway. The door creaked open, the air cool and musty, glasses shimmering eerily on teetering shelves and pretty cauldrons and retorts on a paper-scattered desk.

"Here we are." Papa smiled, dragging over a tiny stool Falrung had made for me and patting it. "Come on."

I licked my lips, sliding my fingers over the cool curves of carved wood, bears roaring and deer dancing, before clambering on. Papa wound his arm around me, brandishing a pretty yellow-petaled plant and tickling my cheek with it. "Now, what's this one, and what's it for?"

I grinned, grabbing it in my little hands, caressing the dried buds and smelling it before squeaking. "Genet! Pee-pee!"

"Good girl." Papa smiled wryly as he wrapped the plant in parchment. "Genet, or broom, stimulates urine production. Or makes you go pee-pee," he teased. Another flower branched beneath his fingers, bristled and near cracking from month of careful drying. Purple, slipper-shaped buds, leaves reaching to papa's lap. "And this?"

"Um." I bit my lip, fidgeting.

"What's your favorite drink?" He asked, petting the plant.

"Oh! Um. _Milk _- Milkwort." I nodded solemnly as papa reached for another stem, our game continuing. To me, at least, it was a game, precious time I could spend with my father not shared with mum or Anya or poor, ailing patients. The gentle snores outside grew and fell, sometimes whispers or grumbles, sometimes hellish screams from nightmares, until papa put the final bud away and gathered me in his arms.

"Come on, sweet. Time to go home."

I yawned, nestling in the crook of his arm, listening to the sounds of him cleaning up. The wind outside had fallen to a gentle whisper, snowflakes drifting down and landing in papa's hair. I ran my fingers through his curls, snowflakes melting before I could catch them. Papa's hand played idly at the back of my neck, soothing me as the winds lulled until a blast of warmth and woodsmoke greeted me.

"Jack!" I snapped awake at the sound of Falrung's voice, giggling as I was trapped between them as they hugged. "And the 'lil cub. How's my bear-girl doing?"

I bared my teeth, growling. "Bear-girl!_ Rgggrr!"_

"By Ysmir, don't _scare _me like that!" He raised his hands, eyes wide in feigned shock. "Can the bear-girl use her big paws to pour the wine while mumma bear stokes the fire?"

"Yes!" I scampered down from papa's arms, grabbing the jug of wine and kneeling carefully over Falrung and papa's goblet. Both were the most precious things we owned, cast in brass polished into gold with dragons twisting as a handle. The wine made me grimace as I poured it, repelled by the smell but fascinated by the pretty bubbles that rose to the surface, by Falrung's thick, hairy palms wrapping around his tankard.

"Cheers, then." Falrung grinned, glancing at papa with a sweet warmth, one that made me tingle, made me think of happy mumma.

Papa smiled back, shrugging off his coat and settling in his chair, taking a quiet Anya in his lap as their cups clinked. "Cheers."

I remember little else of that night - settling into Falrung's lap, his hairy arms around me, the raucous jokes - Falrung Skin-Beater, papa would call him - before mumma would hush them. A hand playing with my hair, mumma whispering something about me sleeping too much and papa brushing it away. The smell of wine, mumma's harsh laughs, and dark, warm silence.


	3. Chapter Three

"Gabby?"

I roused slowly, curling on myself to stay warm, nuzzling against Falrung's chest in a vain search for warmth. The silence was strange to me - no snores, no sounds of mumma cleaning up or Anya rousing. Only mum's whisper, her hand gentle on my back. "Gabriel, _cherie_, come."

I grunted fitfully, twisting to try and share Falrung's warmth, but unable to find it. Blinking sleep sand from my eyes I moved my hands, pressing against his chest, listening to the comforting thump-thump of the drum in his chest I couldn't hear. Mum's hands wound around my waist, pulling me away.

"Farum." I whined, twisting in mum's arms, confused and filled with belly-deep dread at the sudden, shocking silence and coldness of the world. "Wake. Wakey."

"No, dear." Mum soothed, turning me away, nestling my head in the crook of her neck and petting my hair as I fretted. "No more. Shhh."

I caught Anya out of the corner of my eye, staring at papa, and grimaced in jealousy. I squirmed out of mum's arms and raced to her, my gaze moving from papa sleeping, to her, to papa again. I frowned, still childishly determined. "Papa. Wakey, now, g'morning."

Anya stared, eyes glassy at papa, her hand over his. I moved my hand, too, feeling a shiver at how cold his skin was. "He _won't,_ Gabby. He's dead."

"Dead?" I echoed before mum spoke, sharply reproaching her and gathering me up, taking Anya's hand. Her face was twisted, and our home seemed empty - pots gathered, the rug gone, even scraps of parchment moved away. I whimpered, clinging to mumma and staring after us as we moved outside.

"No!" I screamed, wrestling her with my tiny might. "You forgot! Papa!" _Papa didn't kiss her. Is she mad? I poured the wine all wrong, all wrong, it's all wrong._ Mum's face twisted, eyes darkened and slitted, lips pressed into a harsh line as she hurried us outside, were strange men in dark clothes waited.

"Dead this morning, ma'am?"

"Y-yes. I don't know how." Mumma whispered, her eyes going wide. "Jacques, my husband, he works with the ill."

"Then Stendarr will give him a warm blessing." One of the men looked at us, eyes sweeping over Anya and mum before settling on me, his lips pursed. "Do you have... somewhere to stay? To take the children? I'm sure the chapel - "

"Family." Mum cut off, pulling me close, her arm almost unbearably tight. "I have family who will help us. But thank you."

Murmurs as they passed by - consolations, regrets, the only word I truly understood was sorry. I whimpered. _Sorry. Sorry. Bad wine. Bad Gabby._ The door stayed open just slightly in the wind, and I caught a cruel, final glimpse of papa's face and shrieked for him, fear coiling in my belly.

_"Papa!"_

A final whisper from one of the men, carried on the wind - _poor tot._

_Not a tot. Bear. Bear-girl._ I whimpered, cried, pounded my fists against mumma's shoulders as we walked to the stables, as another man in a dark green cloak swept my mum in a hug, a papa-hug, and helped us on a great black horse.

My last memory of my father, my true childhood home, is of this - the trees of Mournoth high and proud against a dim sky, the wind-whistle and smell of horse hair and oil, the pounding of hooves and the strange shrinking of all I'd ever known into a pinpoint of snow white and sleep black...

"So this is your littlest one."

I jerked awake at the feel of a hand on my cheek, smooth and clean and strange by the memory of my father's calloused fingers. The hand brushed down the curve of my jaw, a face and small smile swirling into view.

"She looks like you, _cherie_ Abelle." He leaned in close, eyes narrowed, frowning in thought. "I will take good care of you, _petite mon._"

_Papa is supposed to take care of us._ I grimaced, squirming away and shuddering at the feel of mum's nails running through my hair. _Not you. It's wrong, all wrong. Papa forgot. I wronged._ Fear and hysteria bubled in my, clawing up my throat until I wailed. Mumma cooed, Anya pinching my leg and telling me to shut up. The strange man, with his clean beard and watery eyes, backed away.

"You all must be starved. Have a meal readied for them, Trudeau." Another man, the horse-man in green nodded as a wiry boy led the steed away. I began to screech louder, pounding my fists because it was wrong, we had to take the horsie and go back and get rid of what Anya had called _dead._

"Hush, Gabby. Look." I quieted to a whimper at the sound of mumma's voice, her hands wrapped around me as cobblestone clapped under her feet. "Look how pretty your new home is."

I followed her finger and gaped, my eyes going wide. It was as though from a storybook, spires silhouetted against grey slate, green roofs snow-dusted and white-washed beams stretching wide. _But home is home, home is._.. I whimpered again, nuzzling mumma - the only steady, unchanged thing, it seemed - and whispered.

"I poured the wine. I did it _wrong._"

"No, sweet, no." Mum's face twisted, eyes dark and fogged in grief. "You did _nothing_. It's all better, now."

In my childish mind, the only connection I could make between my papa and Falrung's death was that I poured the wine, that he had forgotten to kiss her goodbye. That it was all, somehow, my own fault. Anya wasn't crying as I did - she was stone-faced, hated and aspired to in her seemingly mystic nine year old courage. Ever pale and silent she walked, hushed as we were lead inside the home-not-home, as we ate strange foods that made my mouth water and belly churn. As women in black smelling of powders fussed over us, pouring hot water over our head and dragging ivory combs through our hair. As mumma, ghostly and beautiful in a silk chemise, kissed us goodnight and left in the arms of the strange bearded man.

It was only when we were nestled in a new bed, a plank of wood separating us and clean, silky blankets dragged to our chins that she spoke.

"It wasn't you."

I snorted, lifting my head from the warm dampness where I'd sobbed into my pillow. Anya hoisted herself over the board, her hair - rich, autumn brown like papa's - fell from its bindings.

"Don't cry."

She nuzzled beside me, pursing her lips and solemnly taking my hands in her own. She gazed at them, brow wrinkled in thought, before moving to kiss my cheek.

"Maman says everybody dies. Like flowers in winter. S'okay." She whispered. "Don't be scared. I'll protect you."

Though not moments ago I had hated her for being so quiet and strong when so much had changed, the sisterhood that made us by default despise each other also made us inextricably intertwined. I cuddled against her, crying softly until slumber overtook us both.

I dreamed of Falrung, and papa, sinking under a suffocating winter coat of snow. I dreamed of the strange new man with his clean, waxed beard ripping up flowers. I dreamed of the wine turning green as I poured it, reeking of venom.

When my father and my dearest friend, my two teachers, died, I blamed myself for it. I did for many years after.

I was six years old.


	4. Chapter Four

"No, _no_, it's the fork first. Work inwards, remember, dear?"

I cringed as the Imperial woman spoke again, guiding my hands back to fold primly in my lap and rearranging the silverware I so venomously despised.

"Now, try again. Shoulders back, good posture. Napkin folded in your lap, elbows off the table - and don't muss your dress. Go on."

"I don't _want_ to." I growled, crossing my arms and biting back a curse that had already made my bottom sore once. My nurse tutted behind me.

"_Good_ ladies do as they are told."

"I don't _wanna_ be a good lady!" I snapped, staring at the center of the plate as though I could turn it to ashes if I stared hard enough. Miss Tucket frowned, clucking her tongue in only a way a nurse can and sinking her nails into my shoulder, spinning me around.

"So you want to be a bad lady? Lonely and unmarried, mm?" She moved her hands on her hips, silver brow raised. "A poor old spinster like me?"

_Bad?_ I looked my nurse over - her plump, rouged cheeks, lips pursed, her hair whipped into a tight bun perched gingerly on her head. Long nails that terrified me, a wrinkled brow, wide and stout and plain. _Were you ever bad? _

At the thought of becoming like her I grimaced, shifting back in my seat and turning to the table. Not quite able to ignore the sour taste in my mouth, I resumed my dreaded manners lesson. Distantly, I felt a longing - for beast hide and flickering light - and pushed it away as Miss Tucket's voice pressed on.

I whooped when the lesson ended, lifting up my skirts and racing down the echoing halls. I pressed against the study door, creeping into the only place I dared call home. The smells of oiled leather and age welcomed me, books with fine bindings peering down upon the intruder as I moved past. I dragged my fingers over their spines, relishing their textures and feel, sliding two away and gathering them in my arms.

_Sovngarde_ and _Song of the Alchemists._ I smiled, cradling them close like precious children and jumping into my stepfather's chair.

Stepfather - Toltette. I refused to call him anything else. My mother's marriage to him was a betrayal to me. I took what little comfort I could in solitude, in skipping lessons on poise and tucking myself into the worlds Falrung and Papa introduced me to so long ago. I spent hours there, whispering spells, memorizing ingredients, stumbling over words and tracing the greying sketches of Nordic gods.

"Gabriel!"

"Damn!" I leapt up, gathering my treasures and glancing wildly around the room. I could her the click of mum's feet in the hall, her calls for me that I scurried from. _Under the desk? No, she caught me last time. _I dashed to a shelf, slipping between it and the wall and wincing at the hollow thud as my back landed against it.

_Hollow?_

"Come, Gabby, don't keep Miss Tucket waiting!"

I pursed my lips, slipping onto my knees and dragging my hands over the wall section. There - my finger slipped on the tiniest crack. A panel! I caught my breath, pulling back, a flush of excitement dancing through my chest.

"Gabriel Anna Dust Toltette, _open this door!" _

_Well, now or never._ Grinning, I moved my books under my arm and pried the panel open. On hands and knees I clambered inside, closing the wall behind me just as the door outside burst open.

"Gabby?"

Darkness. I crept inside, listening, shaking cobwebs that tangled in my hair. There wasn't much room - just enough to tuck myself against the wall, my knees bent just so with my feet perched against the wall. A perfect sanctuary. A haven, a -

A _hideaway._

I felt a sweet shiver as my father's words echoed in me, the smell of wormwood and illness leaving me as soon as it came. A hideaway. Papa's had been a place of learning and healing, where he fostered my love for alchemy and the unknown, raised me amongst dried rosemary sprigs and glass bottles.

_Maybe..._

I tapped my fingers against my knee, the spell blooming in my mouth and flooding the nook with light. I squinted, drawing my book open with the other tucked at my side. Mum at last relented, the sound of her footsteps fading as I fingered the crisp pages of parchment.

_Hiding. _

Sneezing as dust swirled around me, I spread _Song of the Alchemists_ on my lap and began.

_"When King Maraneon's alchemist had yet to leave his station..."_

Good and glorious _Nine_, girl, what have you done?"

Mum fretted over me as I sat by her side at dinner, fluffing my hair and grimacing at the puff of dust that fell from it. "Did you go cobweb hunting? You missed your dancing lesson, too. Your father won't be pleased."

I frowned. _He isn't my father._

"That's so _gross_, Gabby." My sister pouted, glaring at me by my side. "We eat here. You're going to get dust everywhere."

I opened my mouth to protest but mum spoke first, a shiver sliding down my skin at her words, her soft and bittersweet laugh.

"Dusty Dust. Just like your father's name."

My _real_ father, Jacques Dust. I mouthed the name. Dust.

_... I'll never take Toltette's name._

It was then, with my breath caught, that I _knew._

"Good evening, Abelle." I glanced up as Toltette swept past, followed by the scent of wax as he lay a chaste kiss on her brow. His gaze swept over us, eyes landing on me with a frown. "Children. Gabriel Toltette, why are you so filthy? Go and clean _immediately."_

_Toltette._

I bit my lip, digging my nails into my palms until the word burst hot and sickly from my throat.

"No!"

"No isn't an _option,_ young lady."

"Don't call me Toltette. I'm Dust."

I heard mum's sharp intake of breath behind me, Toltette's brow raised and lips pursed.

"Your father's filthy name?" He whispered, dangerously quiet before his voice rose. "You would call yourself after a _backwards_ -" his face flushed. "A dick-sucking -"

"Davide!" Mum gasped, putting her hands over my ears as I went slack jawed. Anya had _told_ me what a dick was, and -

"She needs to be dealt with, Abelle!" Toltette hissed, eyes piercing through me. "He was a filthy scoundrel, dragging your sweet mother into poverty, tossing her away for a heathen Nord."

_Nord?_

_Falrung._

I shuddered, turning wide-eyed to my mum who watched Toltette go on with harsh breath. Her hands clenched, nails raking down my arms before she snapped._ "Enough!"_

The room went silent. Anya gaped, a forkful of mutton dangling over her mouth. Toltette's face turned a shade of sour milk.

"I apologize, dear. I lost my temper." He paused, gazing at mum with an aching stare before taking his place at the table. "I simply hoped the child I raised would _respect_ me more than her sire."

"It's just a phase," mum murmured before we all went quiet again, our inner turmoil concealed in a family dinner.

Mum thought it was a phase.

It wasn't.

I named myself, began to run away from my nurse every day, from my lessons. I read as thought starved, lyrical words my sweet nourishment. When I asked mum the truth, she relented - papa, my dear father and Falrung were lovers in hiding. I wasn't too young to understand love, that my papa had somehow betrayed mum. That my childhood heros were entwined with deciet.

Slowly, painfully, I began to extract myself from them. A new name. A new understanding. A new life. Gabriel Toltette had never existed, and Gabby died when she woke in Falrung's cold lap. Dust was my new name, one I kept close to my heart as I felt I could little else.

I was eleven.


	5. Chapter Five

**Author's Note**: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! :D I adore hearing what you think, so please drop me a line!

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"Dust, come on!"

Dewy grass slipped beneath me as I ran barefoot after Sirius, sliding around the stable and catching a glimpse of bright red hair before he slipped into darkness. I scoffed, stopping just before the mildew warmth of the stable, careful to keep my feet firmly on the grass as I poked my head in and wrinkled my nose.

"You come out_ here."_

"No!"

"I am not going in there barefoot. Stendarr knows what I could _step_ on."

"Use a spell, then! You have to come in_ here!_"

I groaned, folding my arms and whispering a spell to lift my feet from the earth even as I retorted. "I can't use magicka for everything, you know."

"Sure 'ya can. You're a Breton, right?" Came the reply, sharp and wry. I smiled, imagining the crooked smile he would have. "All you're good for. Now, come on. Plans to work on."

"Right." I slipped inside, grimacing even with my feet safely floating inches above the muck. The smell of horse and straw carried its own charm, the dim glow of sunlight streaking through cracks and the gentle snuff from horses lulling. I paused, moving to a new foal with wide eyes and stroking her velvety muzzle as she whickered. "What's this one named, Sirius?"

"Aye?" I glanced until I caught a flicker of movement, and watched him move close out of the corner of my eye. He shrugged, scratching his head and scuffing a filthy boot "Dunno. Pretty filly, though. Week old, I think. Careful, her mum doesn't like you."

"Oh." I frowned, drawing back reluctantly from the sweet foal to glance nervously at the mare beside her stall, lip raised and teeth bared._ "Sorry."_

"Me or the horse?" Sirius laughed, grinning wide before pulling me further inside. "C'mere."

I followed him, careful to keep my spell going as I gingerly moved. We made a strange pair - he, a teenage stableboy, and I, a noble child, but we were steadfast friends. He was too old to consider me anything but a younger sister, and I was too young to care for him in any other way, but I still jealously hid him from Anya as she sought out men of her own. We were terribly different, at that age. Sirius once, in a romantic sort of mood and fancying himself a poet, said I was a foal. On shaky legs, wide-eyed, a head too big for my body. I certainly felt like it.

"Up here." We entered the barn, where scratchy piles of gold straw tempted and iron tools hung rusting from nails. I shook off my spell as we stepped on straw, brushing my feet and giggling at its tickle before following his movement. He perched on a ladder, glancing down with a frown. "Come on, filly."

I sighed, heaving myself up and grimacing as my dress bunched around my knees. "Why can't I wear what you wear?"

"Princesses don't wear mucking clothes."

"I'm not a princess," I grumbled, pulling myself onto the little ledge overlooking the barn. We nestled in the hay like hidden birds, safe and secret from the world. Straw crinkled and cracked pleasantly as I settled, smiling. "What do you have to tell me?"

"Not telling you anything." He raised a brow, tapping me on the nose with a smile. "We're thinking of something. A plan."

"For what?"

"To get you out of princess lessons tomorrow." He hummed to himself, leaning back and glancing over his fingers. "To distract Lady Toltette, sneak into her private quarters, and - "

"I'm not a princess." I growled, my eyes going wide as his words sank in. "Mum's private...? Why?"

"Curiosity. Rumors." His smile dimmed, eyes narrowing into jade slits. "You with me?"

"You aren't telling me anything." I frowned, twisting my hands in my lap. "It's a bad idea, Sirius. If mum or Toltette catches you - "

"Well, hey." He shrugged. "Thass fine. Go to your lessons. I hear Tucket is talking to you about the birds and the bees tomorrow."

"Oh, disgusting!" I wrinkled my nose, caught in a fit of giggles. Sirius and Anya had told me more than enough, and thinking about Miss Tucket - I squirmed just to think of it. "So, let me guess. If I help you, you'll get me out of it?"

"You're learning, filly."

...Fine." I laughed nervously, tucking my legs and scrunching the folds of my skirts, trying to ignore the sense of dread hot and sickly at the back of my throat. "How?"

"Easy." He smirked, idly picking at his teeth with a braid of straw. "Like they do in stage fights. You know those berries by the gardens, the red ones?"

"Yeah." I frowned. "Why?"

"Grab a bunch. How do ye... con... congale 'em? Make the juice thick?"

"_Congeal._ Wormwood should make it seize up. _Why,_ Sirius?"

"Cos we're gonna fake you falling, filly." Sirius drawled, casting me a glance with a raised brow. "The juice'll seem like blood. Keep it in your mouth, aye? Pretend to fall down the stairs. Tucket sees you bleeding, I'll offer to take you to the healer, and you're free as a spring magpie."

"What?" I scoffed, sliding down the hay and leaping onto my feet. "No. That's_ idiotic. _Miss Tucket isn't stupid, she'd want to see a wound."

"Not if it just looks like you broke a few teeth. See?" He bared his lip like a horse, revealing two missing teeth. "You just lost one, right? So it'll look like you knocked it out."

"Why don't I just fake _sick_?"

"She caught you last time, filly."

I grumbled, grimacing as I remembered why I'd agreed to skip her lessons. "Her lecture alone _could_ make me sick."

"Then_ come_. It'll work, I swear. Cross my heart."

We argued until a cowbell clanked , calling the servants to their meal. Sirius flashed me a cheeky grin as I sighed and relented. "Atta girl. Trust me, we're gonna find adventure. Secrets." He hopped down beside me, smirking and giving me a pinch. "Better than _'if a boy ever touches you'_ talk, right?"

I couldn't resist laughing - his high-pitched, frenzied mimic was uncanny. "Right. _Au revoir_, Sirius."

"Aye, princess." I caught only final glimpse of vermillion hair before he was gone, racing down the field to the servant's rooms. I sighed, uselessly smoothing my dress and blinking in sapphire sunlight as I made my way home.

"Gabriel Toltette, there you are!" I cringed at a familiar shriek, gingerly looking up to see Miss Tucket huffing down the path. "What have you - covered in straw, _barefoot -"_

"Yes, Miss Tucket. Sorry."

"Like a little _piglet!_" She continued, triumphantly grabbing my sleeve and dragging me back to the house as though I'd never meant to return in the first place. "Oh, your mother will be horrified. You'll be the death of me yet, missy."

With all the venom of an annoyed thirteen year old girl, I crossed my fingers and half-hoped I'd prove her right.


	6. Chapter Six

"Ready?"

I crouched in the bathroom by the stairs, fidgeting as Sirius kept watch for Miss Tucket's impending search for me with a wicked grin. I nodded slowly, jerking as a screech broke the silence.

"Do I have to get you a_ collar_, child? Dust, come here now!" A smirk tugged at my lips when she called me Dust at last, but Sirius caught my attention, clearing his throat.

"Good luck, filly." He whispered, giving me a wink before running to the balcony stairs. "She's up here, Miss Tucket! I'll send her down!"

I leapt to my feet, grimacing at the squeeze of berry juice in my cheek. I stopped at the top of the stairs, wincing at Miss Tucket's reproving watch.

_"Go!"_

At Sirius's urging I did. I waved, then raced down the long stairway. How to fake tripping? I panicked as I realized I didn't know how, before finding the world spinning and landing in an aching pile at the bottom of the stairs. Miss Tucket gasped, and I raised my hand - my mouth was warm and wet. I spat, tears stinging in my eyes, a sanguined tooth falling from my mouth.

"Oh, sweet Mara!" Miss Tucket kneeled by me, helping me up and gasping at the mix of fake and real blood dribbling down my chin. "You poor child! Oh, mercy - well, it's alright, just a broken tooth..." I cringed as she lifted it, curling my tongue over the newly empty hole in my gums. _That wasn't part of the plan. _

"I'll take her to the healer, ma'am!" I heard footsteps behind me, felt a strong hand tug me up as I was half hoisted onto Sirius's shoulder. "Please, Du - _Miss_ Toltette, let me help."

"Oh, you darling boy. Thank you. I'll clean up this mess." Miss Tucket gushed, rising to her feet and giving me a worried glance. "Slow down, child. Be more careful. The healer will fix you right up."

I nodded, limping off. We were silent until I made it around the corridor, Sirius clapping me on the back and cackling. "Brilliant! Best fake fall I e'er seen! The tooth was a nice touch." He grinned. "Remind me to buy you a drink, filly."

"I don't _drink._" I grumbled, clutching my throbbing head an smiling in spite of myself. The mingled berry juice and blood dried on my chin, itching and flaking under my fingers. "I'm free, so it's worth it anyway."

"Aye. We've got work to do."

We moved through the shadowed hall, silent and still. I frowned under the eyes of portraits, moving close to Sirius and trying to keep my twitching hands from clutching his.

"This way." He whispered. I vaguely recognized where we were - mum and Toltette's private quarters, forbidden to us children. It felt forbidden - the stifling silence, the impeccably polished candlesticks, windowless and lit by only ominous candlelight. Secret and sinister.

"Here."

I was jerked backwards, pulled to a stop in front of one of the towering doors. _Mum's office_. I gulped.

"_Why_ are we doing this again?"

"Cos it's an adventure, princess. And there's something I need to see."

"What?"

"Tell you later."

I sighed, worrying at my lip and stepping back from the door. "We shouldn't."

Sirius glowered. "Don't make me rat you out."

"You _wouldn't!"_

He ignored my indignant squeak, sliding a slender sliver of metal - a lockpick - from his pocket, slowly feeding it into the lock. I watched, stomach churning as he fiddled and cursed until a mechanical click echoed from within.

"There. Time to find some answers." He hissed, pocketing the pick with a slow, creeping smile that made me shudder. "No turning back now, filly."

Slowly, neck prickling, I nodded. "No turning back."

The door creaked open, a croak of warning before Sirius gestured me inside. I slowed, looking around the forbidden room with a bitter taste at the back of my throat.

It was much like the library study - polished wood, books, a map spread upon the wall, yellowing and curling at the ages with strange lettering about faraway lands. And orb of light flickered in a lamp, a silver platter with a half-eaten sweetroll perched on the desk. I grimaced. _All this for nothing?_ "Sirius..."

"Shh!" He hissed. I glanced around, catching sight of him huddled in the corner by the wall. A shiver clambered up my spine as I watched him press against the wall - _a nook, just like mine!_ At last it slid open - in the dim light I saw only letters, wax-sealed and mundane. I was both relieved and disappointed, but Sirius's breath caught, eyes going wide as he studied one of the envelopes.

"What is it?"

"Shh."

I crept to his side, looking over the piles of unaddressed scrolls and letters, yellowing parchment, red wax, a flash of silver -

_Silver?_

I reached in, breath caught, shivering as my fingers slid across cool, carved metal. Ebony. I reached blindly further, cringing at the sudden sting on my finger and drawing my hand back, sucking away blood. A knife?

"Letter opener." Sirius dismissed my thoughts with a curt glance. "Don't touch it."

"Why are these hidden?" In the back of mind something strange and secret clawed, but distantly, an itch. I pushed it aside, watching as Sirius slipped the unopened letter into his tunic. "You can't _take_ that! That's stealing!"

_"Shut up!" _He clapped his hand over my mouth, prying me backwards and sliding the door shut, fear glittering in his eyes. "Let's go._ Now."_

"You wanted to come in here!" I gasped as he pulled me away, stubbornly gripping the doorframe as he moved into the dark corridor. "What is it? _Tell me!"_

"Dusty, later! We have to - "

Footsteps.

Sirius froze, let me go and backed away. Before I could move he whispered - _sorry, filly _- and ran.

"Dust?"

I watched helplessly as mum approached, eyes dark, lip twisted. I cringed, wringing my hands.

"Sorry, _maman."_

I was sent to bed, given no punishment - not even a reproach. I seethed at Sirius as I washed the dried blood from my chin, the water blossoming red. The silence was somehow worse than a scolding, and I slept little that night, cursing Sirius, vowing to never take part in his harebrained schemes again until dawn broke, and I was hurried off restless and exhausted to breakfast.

Silverware clinked in the morning, the only sound amongst us as we ate together - Toltette by mum's side. I avoided her gaze, biting my lip instead of food and hardly daring to raise my voice in a desperate attempt to escape.

"May I go riding with Sirius before lessons?"

"Sirius?" Toltette raised a brow. "Who?"

Anya whispered,eyes fixed on her plate. "The stableboy."

"_Ah." _His face softened, pity I despised in his gaze. "An unfortunate accident, I'm afraid. He's dead, cherie. Tripped. Caught on his pitchfork. _Truly _tragic."

...Tragic. I felt _nothing_. An accident, a _tragic_ accident.

Things changed, after that. Mum no longer chastised me for missing lessons, Miss Tucket no longer hunted me down - I was free to do as I wished. The nurse and servants said I was _delicate_, let me have my way when I rarely bothered to voice it. I had what I'd always wanted.

Free as a magpie.


	7. Chapter Seven

Bathwater rippled as I sprinkled dried lavender over it, peering through the rising steam to scry my own reflection. A girl peered back, her hair dark and twisted around her shoulders, cheeks flushed, eyes strange and distant. Silent, pretty, unquestioning. A perfect bride.

"Dammit." I sighed, splashing the water and grumbling as I slipped inside. I dipped my head back, sighing as my hair slicked to my neck and I took a precious moment of silence, listening to nothing but the water lap at the edges of the tub. The scent rose sweet and delicate, enveloping me in steam as I dragged my fingers through my hair. I pursed my lips, trying to relax, but of course that only made things _worse._

I frowned, splashing at the water and growling. "I'm marrying a sodding_ toad."_

"Dusty? Are you in yet?"

_"Oui, maman." _I relaxed at the sound of mum's voice, listening as the door opened and closes behind her, as she pulled a stool to my side and perched herself there, smiling. I forced a grin, swallowing guilt as her face fell.

"Oh, _dear. _It won't be so bad."

"I know." I sighed, turning from her and rubbing hot water down my arms in a vain attempt to keep properly warm. "We need a bigger tub. If my front's hot, my back's cold, and if my back's warm, my_ front's _cold."

"Don't nitpick, dear." Mum had a slight smile in her voice. "I bet Gaston's family will have a nice bathing room."

"A swamp, I imagine." I muttered before I could stop myself.

"Dust - "

"I know, mum. Sorry."

"We just want what's best,_ cherie._" Mum murmured, pouring something cold and coy into her hand and working it into my hair, surrounding me with sweet suds. "Anya is happy, after all."

I let a rush of breath, watching my reflection ripple as I whispered. "I'm not Anya."

Mum and her handmaid took over my bath, scrubbing me until my skin grew raw, then paled, dragging a comb through my unruly hair, murmuring about colours and matches as I sat in my chemise, fiddling with my hands and making no attempt to choose my own dress.

"The cinched waist, then. Come, dear." I bit back a groan as mum led me to the handmaid, the two working to lace a corset around my stomach. I sucked in a breath, releasing it in a curse that had the handmaid gasping and mum scolding. Delicate pink, puffed sleeves, my hair drawn back in a tight, coiled braid, my cheeks rouged and ink carefully spread along my lashes.

I stared in the mirror, trying to keep my hands still at my sides - _fidgeting is unbecoming, cherie_ - and ignoring the bitter taste rising in my throat. Mum smiled softly.

"You look like one of my old dolls, dear. The porcelain ones? Lovely."

_I do look like a doll._ I frowned, wrinkling my nose as the girl in the mirror did the same. _Fragile and empty-headed_. I bit my lip, a nervous glance at mum keeping me from speaking my mind.

"Dusty, I have _never_ seen you this quiet. It's an omen of a good marriage, I'm sure."

"Anya!" I gasped, racing - as much as I could in ridiculous, toe pinching shoes - to my sister's arms. She laughed aloud, eyes sparkling, her belly round and full and cheeks flushed from baby glow. Mum laughed aloud, embracing us both tight at once before running a hand down Anya's belly. I grinned, chittering like a sparrow as I hopped from foot to foot. "I didn't even think you were coming! I mean, with the baby? Is it safe to travel?"

"I'm not all that delicate." She smiled wryly, reaching to lay a kiss on my cheek before doing the same to mum. "Oh, I've missed you both."

"And you too, my dear." Mum tilted a hand under Anya's chin, a proud smile lighting her face. "Ahh, look at you both. A beautiful mother, and a beautiful bride. They grow up so fast."

I laughed, fumbling nervously with my hair and trying to keep my smile from going watery as hers. _"Maman..."_

"I know, dear. I won't say another thing." Mum shook her head, her smile growing wicked. "I fear Gaston will discover his secret proposal plans aren't quite so secret."

"He won't suspect a thing." I frowned, sighing and idly playing with the bow in Anya's hair. "His head is filled with swampwater."

"Dust..." Mum paused, looking to Anya with a glance I didn't quite understand.

"Well, I'll get back to the table. We're all waiting, _ma souer cherie._"

"We'll be out in a moment." Mum called out after her, waiting until the door closed before turning to me, gently laying her hands on my shoulders. She smiled bittersweetly. "Dusty, I _know_ what Gaston is like."

I listened, silent, passive.

"He may be rich, but he's - well. A brain full of _swampwater_." She smiled. " He may be - "

"A brutish lout?" I had suggestions on my lips before she could speak, finding myself grinning. "A squat, bloated toad with all the charm and manners of an ogre?"

"Yes." Mum shook her head, chuckling. "But he is also in the right family, dear. The right names, the right _status._ I believe it was his father who decided for him." Her smile turned, eyes darkening. "If he can't have an intelligent son to inherit the family business and name, a daughter-in-law is the next best thing."

I pursed my lips, casting away my gaze. "You know what I think. I don't care about marrying for love."

"...I know."

"And if it will make you happy..." I trailed off, reaching for mum's hands. "Then I'll do it. I'm only seventeen, after all." I gave a crooked grin. "Plenty of time to find other suitors."

"My little minx of a daughter." Mum cackled, then went somber, clutching my hands tight. "It only makes me happy because it makes Davide happy. And I know he wants what he sees as best. _Make_ the best of it, love." I watched, curious as mum reached into her sash, pulling away an ebony blade that made me catch my breath. "You're brilliant, quick and cunning. The Roste family will flourish because of you." She placed the blade in my gloved hand, pressing the gold-silver metal against my palm. "My letter-opener. Take it. May it bring you the fortune it brought me."

"Maman..." I breathed, turning the blade over in my hand - pure ebony, carved into a gold-veined weave. "It's beautiful."

"Like you." She smiled, pressing a hand to my back. I swallowed, gazing at the door. "Time for your proposal, sweet. Go on."

With a shallow breath, my heart thumping against the ribs of my corset, I nodded my head and moved through the hall, to the dining room, to sit beside the man with whom I would spend the rest of my life.


	8. Chapter Eight

_If he kisses my hand one more time, I'll remove it._

I held my breath and counted far into the hundreds at my future husband's side, picking away at the sumptuous meal provided and giving despairing glances to Anya. She only shook her head and glanced away, a hushed embarrassment shared when I tried to wipe off the flecks of food and saliva Gaston had left in his _charming_ kisses. _The slob_. I sighed, folding my napkin again and again in my lap and fading in and out of the animated conversation between Toltette and Monsieur Roste.

"Quality, Roste - this is what makes my breeds sell so well, finest in High Rock."

"But is it not all about salesmanship, my friend? The finest stallion will never sell if the seller does not represent his product, after all."

"Ah, father l-_loves _his debates." Gaston turned to me with a grin, one that split his face in half though no warmth shone in his eyes. "Why can't we just... just enjoy our meal, hmm? No useless chatting."

_Useless chatting? Is that what you call discussing the fine points of what pays for those silk cuffs?_ I smiled, hoping it looked less sickly than it felt before turning back to my plate and eyeing the quail with a queasy grimace.

"Delicious meal,_ ch-cherie_, simply delicious. I _love_ a woman who can cook." Gaston winked, eyeing my untouched food. "Rude to ask for seconds, so why don't I finish off yours?"

And I thought I felt sick _before._

"Gaston?" Roste clinked his glass, clearing his throat and raising a brow. "Haven't you got something to_ say?"_

"To say? Oh, yes, of course." He muttered, rising from his chair with a groan, catching mum and Anya's attention as Toltette grinned. "I have a most _wondrous _announcement. The, er , Monsieur Toltette has given me the most great honour - " He paused, coughing before continuing in near gasps. "Of his p-permission, to court his most lovely daughter, Gabriel. These past weeks..." _Past weeks? You mean the three times I've met you?_ "Have shown me that she is more than a worthy daughter of the Roste family, and so I have the most dubious - er, deviant..." He flushed, great cheeks swelling red under his father's reproving stare. "Er, _delightful!_ Yes, delightful t-task of asking her to marry me." He turned his gaze on me, and I felt a flicker of pity - he was far more nervous than I. "My dear Gabriel, would you do me the honor of - "

_"Bended knee."_ Roste hissed, just loud enough for Gaston and I to hear.

"Yes, yes!" Gaston gasped, falling on his knee and reaching into his pocket, clutching a ring in his sweaty palm. "Miss Gabriel, would you take the honour - I mean, give _me_ the honour, of taking my - _your_ hand in marriage?"

_Honour, marriage, family. _I stifled a sigh, daring to meet Gaston's watery gaze before cracking a weak smile. "It would be my pleasure, Monsieur."

The night finished with cheers and clinking glasses, Mum and Anya kissing me on the cheek, whispering condolences in my ear as Toltette and Roste shook hands on a profitable business endeavor. The room cleared slowly, Gaston taking my arm and leading me down the corridor behind his father and Toltette as he blathered about our future.

"Children, of course. _Lots_ of children." His voice lowered to a whisper, his laugh almost a snort. "We should get started on that as soon as possible, eh?"

I blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Well, you know." He sniggered, blinking furiously and reaching to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. "Why wait until the _w-wedding_, yes? The sooner, the better. My room is just this way." He reached back, catching my arm and quite nearly dragging me behind him.

_Not a toad_. I pulled away, staring hard at him. _A boy. A poor, foolish lecherous boy._

"No."

He stopped, swallowing visibly. "What?"

_"No_. I can't do this." I pulled back again, wrapping my arms around myself like a shield and grimacing. "I won't marry you, Gaston. Not now, not ever."

Toltette and Roste turned to us, Roste turning pale while Toltette faded sickly yellow. _"Gabriel - "_

"No." I spat, backing down the hall, shaking as a mix between anger and pity laced my blood like poison. _"I will not._ I'm not some empty-headed doll, or some puppet conductor - " I glared at Roste. "I won't marry your son. I won't marry a man who can't even take care of himself."

"You've had too much to drink, dear." Roste hemmed, lip curled and eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. "Surely, this is just - "

"It is what it is. Business. And I won't be a part of it." I hissed, seething as I broke off from a slack-jawed, reaching Gaston once more. I breathed heavily, giving him a final look and gritting my teeth. "I wish you all the best, Messieurs, should it have nothing to do with _me."_

And I ran.

Through the garden doors, into the night, a chaotic orchestra of coos and cricket's song the only sound. Through the trimmed hedges, to the brambles, to the unkempt grasses and weeping trees beyond - I tripped, my dress ripping with a satisfying crack around my feet, my shoes abandoned and toes laced with dew. When my breath came in gasps, white breaths rising to the stars, I reached a brook - burbling and reed hidden - and sank to my knees.

I didn't cry.

I watched, instead - my reflection as it dimmed in the water, twisted and strange.

"So." I paused, meeting my gaze, lip caught between my teeth. "Who are you?"

She never answered, but something did. I flinched as I moved, something prodding into my waist. I drew the forgotten blade from my bodice, warm from my breast, unfolding it from its handkerchief fingering the carvings and drawing it through the water in silver streaks. I lifted it, watching rivulets descend before sliding it along my braid, and holding my breath.

Between that moment and the next, I remember nothing. Just the tickle of my hair falling. I watched, breath caught as the black braid floated downstream, somewhere distant, somewhere nobody would find it. Tufts of my hair followed, chopped haphazardly until I ran my fingers through it, short and tight curled to my head.

I walked away slowly, savoring the night whispers, the trembling along my skin, the smile on my lips that I carried through sleep.

I strode into the kitchen that morning, my hair sticking out like a newborn chick's, and waited.

"Oh, _Dusty."_

Mum pursed her lips, pouring herself tea and shaking her head as I forced down the rising lump of guilt in my throat.

_"Maman - "_

"No, dear. I understand." She smiled, lashes downcast. "You would never have been happy. Too headstrong." She chuckled, rising to sweep a hand through my hair. "It suits you."

Toltette wasn't so pleased.

"You little_ idiot._" He snarled, stalking in circles around me as I calmly sipped my tea. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Ruined our connection with the Rostes, shamed me, made yourself into an _ass _- " He could only shout so long, and when I thought he was on the edge of simply bursting into flame he marched off, growling under his breath.

I was told the news that night.

"Gabriel..." Mum murmured, with a careful glance over her shoulder at Toltette. "Dusty. Your father and I have decided that it would be best for you - "

"_And_ for us."

"If we sent you somewhere, dear." Mum took my hands in hers, eyes dark and shining, a small smile on her lips. "To practice magick arts. We're sending you to Cyrodiil, to the Arcane University in the Imperial City."

Toltette cleared his throat, eyes narrowed. "As soon as possible."

My breath hitched. "Cyrodiil?"

"Yes. But if you don't want to go, darling - "

"No!" The word jumped from my throat, my skin tingling as excitement jolted my blood. "I want to go. Please, _maman."_

"I knew you would." Mum breathed, clutching me close as I caught my own breath. "Turdas, then. Go and pack. Are you certain? Cyrodiil is distant, child."

I was sure. And Turdas couldn't come fast enough.

Cyrodiil - I had read of it, traced the names of its lands on maps as a child. The home of the Septims, the holy bloodline. The distant Imperial City, where remnants of ancient Aylieds became a palace, the Imperial Simulacrum, legends of Jagar Tharne - it became almost a holy place, the Zanarkand so close, yet so far away. My blood tingled constantly as I read, curled in my nook for the final time, surrounded by histories of a strange new world. With every new legend, everything I learned, my heart leapt farther in my chest until I was certain it would come out dancing between my lips.

Turdas was cool and balmy, the skies a dismal grey and meadows turned into bleak moors. Anya, Toltette and Maman watched, a flicker of a smile on my sister's lips as I pulled bags of books behind me. The horses whinnied and pawed at the earth in frustration, the old wagonman spitting tobacco and telling me with a silent glare to hurry up as I gave my family one final glance.

"You were always too smart to be cooped up here." Anya smiled, pinching me on the shoulder as though we were children again before holding me tight. "Be happy. I'll miss you."

I had expected Toltette to only watch, and fidgeted when he approached. He cleared his throat, impossibly awkward as we pointedly avoided each other's gaze. He spoke stiffly, a formal farewell, before moving away without ever having touched.

"My sweet Dusty." Mum whispered, laughing weakly as I squeezed her tight. "I'll miss you. Write to me."

I bit my lip to stop tears, muffling my words in the warm crook of her neck. "I'll miss you too, _maman._ I'll be okay."

"Damn straight." She chuckled, drawing a hand through my hair. " You're mine, after all. You'll be alright."

I slid into the carriage, clutching a leather-bound journal to my chest. The old man cracked his whip, and the wheels began to turn.

I never looked back.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for the kind reviews - you have no idea how they motivate me. :D

* * *

I awoke to the kiss of a blinding sun an the rumble of wheels, slipping from a sweet, sleepy haze and lulled by the gentle rock of motion. I yawned, a smile curving my lip as I reached for the little awning, pulling away a wisp of a curtain and looking at a strange new world.

_Cyrodiil._

A land of kings, of gold and jewels - a sapphire sky, emerald grass waving like a sea for distant leagues as the sun stained it glassy gold. I caught my breath, trying to devour it all, my smile stretching wide. _Wow. _"It's beautiful."

"You awake back there?" I startled at the wagonman's gruff shout. "An hour's travel will take us to the city."

_An hour. An hour until I'm truly free._ It was exhilarating, and our slow, steady pace - over rolling hills, a grand bridge beyond glittering water, under a falling sun -

It was strange, agonizingly slow, and exquisitely beautiful.

I drifted off again, two weeks travel weighing heavily on my bones. Cyrodiil - the word prickled my tongue like an exotic fruit, and echoed in my mother's voice.

_I miss Cyrodiil, sometimes. _She'd stroke my hair and murmur, eyes distant and bright. _The cities, the people_. She would write letters to old friends, and sometimes she'd wistfully watch the skies, searching for something I couldn't know. _Nothing, sweet. Just looking._ As though she was waiting, wondering...

_Maman... _I felt a pang of guilt and pulled from the window, snuggling into my cloak. _Did you want to be free, too?_

_"Heeeya!" _I jolted again at the man's call, at the jerk of movement, the whinny of horses, and sudden stop. A clutter, footsteps, the creak of the carriage door and he was there, lips drawn tight in a frown and silver brow high on his head. "Right, missy. I'm setting up and off. The Talos Plaza is just through 'n doors there. Best of luck to ye."

I stumbled down, blinking under the sun's glare and clutching my bags close, mouthing -_ The Imperial City._

Ivory stone spires rose above great walls, almost glistening in dusk's light. I gingerly climbed the cobblestone trail, giving one last, nervous glance to the wagon before settling my gaze ahead. A majestic door greeted me, metal and polished wood curved in dragonic twists.

Breath caught, I pushed against the great door, into the crown of a king's realm.

I gawked around me, slowly approaching a dragon statue rearing its head in the center of the area. The homes were strange, like fortresses with columns and small, gleaming windows. A world of ornate stone. I slipped my bag over my shoulder again, grimacing at its weight.

_I'm exhausted_. I sighed, smiling in spite of the weakness in my legs. _The university, then._

_...But where?_

I pushed back a panicked leap of fear in my throat, searching around me - so many people, so many shades of skin and kinds of clothing, a beastfolk I'd only seen in books hurrying by with a whiskered smile and flick of its tail.

_I don't know these people._

I gnawed my lip, trying to collect myself. I knew nothing of them, their customs - the Imperials that had once seemed so similar to me, the beastfolk, the mer. A fascinating mingle of people, both strange and exciting. I sat, watching an Imperial woman with an uncanny resemblance to Miss Tucket amble by. _Hopefully not all like her_. I managed a small smile.

_Just be polite. Be yourself. Ask._

"Excuse me - " I called to a man, blinking as he hurried by. "Um. Excuse me, miss?" A Dunmer, fiddling with a gold chain around her neck, kept walking. I swallowed, hoping I didn't look as pathetic as I felt. "Excuse me, sir, can you tell me -"

"Go bother a guard!" Came the curt reply, a tawny-skinned mer throwing me a frown before marching off.

_Guard. Fine. _I swallowed again, gaze landing on a man clad in armor, hovering around a corner with a gleaming sword buckled to his waist.

I did _not_ want to bother him.

"Pardon me, citizen."

I jumped, flushing scarlet as a hand pulled from my shoulder. "Oh!" I gasped, gazing wide-eyed at the warm smile and gaze of the Imperial man before me. Silver gold armor, penned with another dragon - a _royal_ guard. "I'm sorry, you s-startled me. Sir."

"Quite alright." He chuckled, eyes crinkling pleasantly. "You seem a bit distressed. Can I help you, citizen?"

"Y-yes, if it's no trouble." I said meekly, barely daring to meet his gaze again. "I need to find the Arcane University, please - sir."

"Certainly. Just follow me." He turned, gesturing me to take his lead. "Are you a new student?"

"Yes, sir. From High Rock." I relaxed at his tone, his easy stride. "I just arrived."

"High Rock, eh? You've come a ways. Here, allow me." I flushed again as he took my bag. "I'm afraid some of the citizens are a bit gruff towards travelers. Should you need help - " He gestured to another guard, nodding at his salute of 'captain' before continuing. "Ask one of us. It is our duty to make sure the civilians of the Imperial City feel safe here."

"I will. Thank you, sir." I smiled brightly. "I never did get your name."

"Adamus Phillada, captain as of last month. It is quite an honour."

"You deserve it," I blurted before gasping, cheeks going hot. "I mean, you were just - it's _nice _to meet someone so friendly."

He laughed, a deep, resonating sound that made me blush deeper. "Thank you, miss. We could use more kind folk like you in this city." As another great door closed behind us he gave me my bag, casting his eyes to the tower before us. "Here you are. Good luck, miss..." He trailed off, brow wrinkling.

"Dust." I beamed. "Miss Dust."

"Miss Dust." He repeated, a slow smile on his lips. "Welcome to the Imperial City."

"Thank you," I breathed, watching him go with a final wave, striding up the stairs and admiring the sheen of mystic stonework below before going inside, my pulse thudding and my name on my lips. _Dust. Not Gabriel, not Toltette. Dust._

"Ahh, there you are. How do you do." A Mer greeted me, giving me a mild look over before beckoning me close. "Gabriel, yes? Tired after traveling, I am sure. Come, I'll show you the Apprentice's Quarters."

_My room. Apprentice Dust's room_. I strode to keep up with the Dunmer's strides, grinning ear to ear and gawking like the near child I was. _An alchemy garden! All these buildings..._ I chuckled to myself, following obediantly as the Dark Elf escorted me into a hall, into hushed rooms and gestured to a warm, beckoning bed.

"As much as I would like to give you a tour, it must wait. I'll expect you tomorrow, Miss Dust, in front of the main tower at seven strokes _sharp_." The Dunmer smiled, wry in spite of his official tone. "Rest well, Miss Dust."

I tumbled into bed after he left, still buzzing with excitement. I was certain I'd never sleep, tapping my fingers in a soothing rhythm and watching the flickers of my light spell that followed, but when my head settled on the pillow and I vowed to rest only a moment I drifted into warm, heavy sleep.


	10. Chapter Ten

I awoke with a jolt, confused by the strange sounds and silk blankets twisted around me. A flickering candle stood at my bedside, dark shapes yawning and stretching in beds of their own.

_The University. I'm at the University._ I smiled, stretching with a languid yawn. _I'm free._ I watched through sleepy eyes as the other students awoke, warm and content with my blanket puled around my shoulders to simply absorb the sights around me.

_A retort, like mine - advanced, though._ I watched a student carefully handle the alchemical piece, polished to a diamond shine. The whisper of ruffled paper and quiet murmurs surrounded me, books being carried as though they might crumble to nothing at a sneeze. Precious tomes of knowledge, open only to students.

_To me_, I realized with a slow smile._ Open to me._

A clock tolled seven bells, startling me from bed with a yelp. I winced as my feet hit cold stone, wiggling my toes and slipping my robe over my head, stuffing my feet into shoes. _Dammit, dammit, I'm late! My first day and I'm bloody late! _I dashed up the stairs, clutching my bag and cursing under my breath. The crowd around me jostled, and I bit back annoyance at being bumped back and forth before bursting away and breaking into a full run. Raindrops pitter-pattered from the sky, making me grimace and slip beneath a spell before lurching to the main tower.

"Damn, damn, damn..."

"Miss Dust."

Oh, _damn._ I stopped short, cracking a weak smile under the reproving frown of the Dunmer scholar.

"You are precisely seven minutes late, and wearing your shoes _on the wrong feet._" I gulped, flushing red as I glanced down and wiggled my oddly uncomfortable feet. He chuckled, a brassy tone, catching my attention. "Fashionably late, and a creative use of footwear, apprentice. Come along."

"Yessir." I meekly followed, unsure of whether to laugh at his dry humour. He paused, motioning for me to join him and pulling something from his satchel.

"What is this, Miss Dust?"

I blinked. A rosy-skinned, dimpled apple sat in his dusky palm. "An apple?"

"Quite." He smirked, vermillion eyes fixed on me. "What else?"

"Ahh..." I gave him a nervous glance before taking the apple, gingerly turning it over in my palm. I brought it to my lips, not to bite but to feel its smooth skin, smell its tart sweetness. "It's quite fresh. They grow in the Heartlands, generally, and ripen in late autumn. Though this one has been treated to stay good," I added at catching a whiff of bitterness. "A member of the nightshade family, so on a more complex level it can be used for poison. Its fibrous properties are also helpful for magicka to draw upon." I paused, frowning in thought. "A mild aphrodisiac, as well."

"Well done." The Dark Elf quirked a brow, smirking. "An alchemist, I presume? To the Lustratorium. And - " He looked back, giving me a curt nod as we walked. "Feel free to consider that your breakfast."

I took a bite, chewing thoughtfully and smiling at the crunch of sweetness, the rumble in my belly. I dashed to his side again - his strides easily outrunning my own, even walking. "I'm interested in all schools, actually, but I do have a particular fondness for Alchemy."

"Oh? You seem apt. You'll advance quickly here, I'm sure." A gentle snicker. "You've already lost the need to call me _sir."_

"Ah..." I bit my lip, flushing. "Sorry, sir."

He paused, giving me a kind smile. "I jest, friend. Bolor Savel, scholar, rank of Wizard and teacher of the posthumous art of restoration." He grinned, pearly teeth contrasting prettily with dark skin. "At your service."

"Charmed." I beamed, beguiled by his wit, then bit my lip in thought. "Posthumous - ?"

"Necromancy, yes." He tilted his head. "Legal in Cyrodiil, though I am one of the few who openly admit to practicing it."

"Oh." I tried to stop a grimace, uncertain of what to say until he laughed again.

"Some fear is quite normal, I assure you. But my advances in the field have proved most useful in saving the living, and the Arch Mage has approved my work." He scowled. "At least some of us are open-minded. But nevermind my ramblings, eh? We need to get you equipped proper." He took my hand, laughing in his throat at my gasp and examining it carefully as I blushed. _What's he doing?_ His skin tingled slightly, remnants of magick workings - _and what else? _I worried my lip, wincing.

"I _do_ wash my hands, you know." He murmured dryly, casting me a small smile before turning back to my hand. "Leather gauntlets, size four, then." He dropped my hand. "I apologize for startling you."

"No, it's alright. I've never touched a Dunmer before." I gasped as my own words set in. _Dammit, Dust, think before you open your bloody mouth! "I'm sorry!_ I meant, ah - "

For a dreadful moment I feared I'd offended him, then his laugh rang out. He slung an arm around my shoulder, walking me back towards the buildings and the Alchemy Garden as he chuckled. "I_ like_ you, Dust. May I abandon formalities?" He continued at my nod. "Wonderful. I am _honoured_ to be the first Dunmer you've ever touched. I suppose it should be expected you've had little contact, from High Rock." He nodded me inside a building, the door neatly labeled with a brassy plate - Lustratorium. "Come along. We'll get you fitted for gloves, given alchemy tools, then we'll tour the rest."

With a meek nod and bright smile, I followed.


	11. Chapter Eleven

It was on my third day in the University that, alone and nervous, I explored the Mystic Archives.

Bolor had given me only a quick show of it, the lower floor, where Cyrodiilic literature and more common books were held. I crept inside, smiling at the musty scent of books and dust, running my fingers along ridged spines, raised letters. My earlier lecture still echoing fresh in my mind I slipped The Wild Elves beneath my arm, curling in one of the plush chairs charred slightly on its arm. I grinned to myself, humming tunelessly as I read, whiling away the hours as the heavy clouds hanging like a blanket and gentle lullaby of rain heralded a lazy day.

It was closer to, and somehow farther from my little nook than I'd ever imagined.

"Excuse me?"

I glanced up at the rasp of a voice, blinking back my surprise as an Argonian gazed heavy-lidded at me. She smiled, baring sharp teeth, words hissing along her tongue as she spoke. "I need to fix up that chair, apprentice."

"Ah, of course!" I stood hurriedly, watching as she bent over the charred cushioning and swept it clean in a brush of magicka. She hemmed, fingering the remaining scar and frowning as cotton hung on her talon.

"Foolish apprentices. No offense, of course. I'm just sick and tired of having to clean up after them, day after day." She grumbled, more to herself than me. "Is it so much to ask? No eating in the stacks. Neat. _Quiet."_

I thought of the carrot I'd been munching earlier and swallowed. "Ah. I suppose not."

"_Exactly!_ I appreciate magicka just as much as the rest, but setting furniture on fire is ridiculous." I bit my lip, listening rather helplessly to her lecture as she fiddled with the burn, this time releasing a puff of white smoke and a hiss of a curse. "I _am_ sorry, apprentice, I've just had a rough day. And..." She murmured something I didn't quite catch, fixated on her work on the stubborn burn.

"Bergamot seeds and a bit of seawater might draw that out." I spoke before I'd realized I had, going dumb as she gave me a glance with a frown. "Uh. Sorry."

"No, I believe you may be right. Alchemy isn't my strong suit, but seawater certainly has cleaning properties around the home." She smiled, relief washing warm over me. "What's your name, apprentice?"

"Dust. I, ah, just arrived here a few days ago."

"Ah, yes. I remember Bolor giving you the tour." She chuckled, shaking her head while her headpiece rang delicately around her fins. "Rogue of a Dunmer. Don't let him lead you astray, mm?"

I joined in her laugh, relaxing. "I won't. He has quite the sense of humour."

"That he does. Quite personable, too. If it weren't for his Necromancy..."

"Then I'd be a spectacular example of a well-behaved, boring little _puppet_, now wouldn't I, Tar-Meena?"

"Savel!" Tar-Meena and I jumped, she barking at him with a glare. "If you don't get rid of that damned charm, _I will_. That ring just makes it easier for you to cause trouble." She frowned as he pulled it off, slipping it in his pocket with a sly smirk. "And wipe that smile off your face."

"Yes, Master-Wizard." He sniggered, slipping an arm around me. I'd grown used to it - touch was one of his ways of speaking, and I'd become fond of that. "A thousand apologies, each and every one without a _hint _of sincerity. This ring is an old gift, you know." He raised a brow. "A Telvanni friend of mine. I wouldn't want to offend _him,_ that's for damn sure."

"Of course we wouldn't." She rolled her eyes, turning to me with a kind smile. "I'll leave the chair, then. Or maybe you'd like to help?"

"Of course!" I fiddled with my sleeve, her title echoing in mind. "Master-Wizard."

"Don't feel obliged," Bolor warned. "Tar-Meena frightens off enough apprentices as is."

"Oh, hush." Tar-Meena snickered.

Friends. It astonished me, how easily the two got along. A Dunmer and Beastfolk - all I'd ever read had claimed them enemies, master and slave. But they were obviously colleagues and more, with the jokes they shared, their smiles. Only when I went to leave, Bolor by my side, did Tar-Meena's smile slip away.

"Bolor."

"Yes?" He turned, his hand on my back. Tar-Meena only raised a brow, utterly like Miss Tucket in her reprisal.

"Oh, don't make that face. I know perfectly well what I'm doing." Bolor scoffed, both ignoring my confusion. "She'll be by tomorrow to help." He shook his head, his smile slipping only for a moment before he met my eye. "There's a fascinating lecture on death rites and lore this evening. Taught by a very handsome Dunmer," he added with a grin.

"Wonderful." I laughed, shrugging off the strange ending with Tar-Meena and hurrying by his side. "I'll be there."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Dim, dirty light, streamed through a beam of rusted bars. The air is thick and sickly, stinking of filth. I can't move. Irons around my hands, chaining me to a damp floor, hardly able to suck in a breath for the air around me. Help. I mewl, raking my nails down the stone. Help. Help.

Be a good girl, he says, beard twitching. And I'll let you out.

No. The word escapes my lips before I can snatch it back. No. Never.

Then He is gone, and I'm alone again, and why isn't maman coming? Help. Help.

"Dust?"

I awoke with a gasp, cold sweat in a sheen down my skin. I dragged my palm over my eyes, blinking away grit to meet Bolor's dark gaze. He sighed, resting his long fingers on my brow. "Just a dream, apprentice. There are potions that can help, you know."

"I know." I mumbled, groaning as I pulled myself from bed. Gentle snores came from all around us, Bolor's face shadowed and strange in candlelight. "Maman always said dreams are important, though. What are you doing here?"

"Came to talk," Bolor said simply, hoisting himself onto my bed. "I couldn't sleep, either. Bad dreams. Comes with the territory. For you, though." He smiled wryly, sweeping a lock of hair from my eyes. "Perhaps the wine just sat badly with you. Quite a celebration, eh?"

"Yes." I laughed, half-heartedly, the dream forgotten but its bitter taint still lurking on my tongue. "Nineteen, now. I don't feel any different."

"Oh, it'll catch up with you." Bolor murmured, a secret amusement in his eyes. "But not yet. You must have been born under the Serpent, yes? It haunted the sky, last night. And that would explain the dreams." He continued at my nod. "A certain fascination of mine, the firmament. The Serpent - most blessed, and most cursed."

"I suppose." It did seem to make sense, my life always seeming to be barreling between two extremes - joy in the poverty of High Rock, misery in my stepfather's mansion. I sighed, curling my legs beneath me and smoothing my nightgown over my legs. "What about you, then? What were you born under?"

"The Lover, of course." Bolor smirked, a little twitch of a smile and a gleam in his eye that always made me laugh. "Charming and graceful, handsome, kind..."

"And humble," I cut him off with a grin. "Generous. The necklace was a fine gift." I fingered the thin silver chain around my neck, feeling its tingle of magicka. He had given it to me after our little celebration, after splitting a bottle of wine beneath my dearest friends under the stars. Tar-Meena seemed caught between amusement and exasperation at it, and I mimicked her gaze as I met Bolor's eye. "The Lover. How old are you, then?"

Bolor stiffened, indignant. "I'm afraid that is none of your concern, my dear Apprentice." He chuckled, taking the simple silver chain between his fingers, his knuckle brushing across my throat. "You look lovely in this. It is enchanted - the same effects of a protection spell."

I grinned. "Don't change the subject, old man."

"You little - " He cackled, gently pushing me onto the bed. I closed my eyes, trying to laugh quietly as the snores and rustles around us grow louder. I caught my breath as he moved over me, smiling down at me as he idly played with my necklace. He paused, eyes dark and far away. "Isn't it odd? Don't you burn easily, with such pale skin?"

"I - no, I don't. I mean, I do, but I..." I faltered as he dragged his finger along my throat, sending a sweet shiver through me. "I don't - never noticed." By the Nine. When did it get so hard to breathe? His free hand slid under the small of my back, his lips curling at my hitch of breath.

"So soft, too. Reminds me of the women in Morrowind. They slathered creams of Cliff Racer droppings on their hands to keep them smooth." He laughed, his breath hot and tickling my cheek. "Ah, listen to me ramble. Happy birthday, Dust."

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice trembling. I'd never been this close to a man, and his smile, his touch... "I. Um. I..."

"You are lovely when you blush." He grinned, moving his hand to cup my cheek, thumb brushing over my lip.

We were silent, for a moment that felt like an eternity. Caught in a strange web of honey-spun sweetness, something I had never felt but felt utterly natural. I sighed as he relaxed gently on me, his smile crooked.

"You should thank me properly for the gift, you know."

I blinked, confused and aroused and by Talos his hand trailing down my stomach felt nice. "It was a birthday gift."

"Yes, I suppose it was." He raised a brow, laughing in his throat. "Then allow me to put it this way - I'll give you another."

He pulled me up to him, just slightly, and crushed his lips to mine. I panicked inside, because dammit I didn't know what I was supposed to do, but our noses fit perfectly together and his hands moved over my hips. He tasted strange and mortal, his smell simply soap and smoke and fire and hope and... and...

I whimpered in my throat, closing my eyes tight at his laugh, as he deepened the kiss and urged my lips to part. His hand slid lower, and stopped, his breath sweeping down my neck as he moved away with a sigh.

"Ah, Dust." He smiled wryly, laying a gentle kiss on my brow. I bit my lip. Why did he stop? "I should get to sleep, and so should you. This should remain between us. Mages and Apprentices are not encouraged to - interact."

So that's it? I gulped, sitting up proper as he moved away. He must have caught the sadness and confusion in my gaze, because he smiled, giving a kind laugh.

"We aren't finished, however. I expect we shall continue our lessons in the near future." His fingers swept beneath my jaw, brushing away. "Good night, Apprentice."

"...Good night." I whispered, watching him leave to his own quarters, listening for the telltale creak of the door upstairs. I released my breath when it closed, collapsing onto my bed, gazing blankly above me. Wow.

If I hadn't felt nineteen before, I certainly did now.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Author's Note:** Sorry about delays, folks! I can't promise this story will happen quickly, since I'm in my last year of High School. =P However, *ahem* REVIEWS MOTIVATE MEH. XD Awkward hint is awkward. Enjoy!

"I ask that you treat this as you would any researching endeavor or lesson; cooly and practically. As I have discussed in previous lectures, death is merely a part of life, and I expect you to examine this corpse as precisely you would a living man or mer."

My eyes were fixed upon the man laid before us on a cold stone slab, Bolor's voice distant and strange to my ears as he lectured. The basement was awkwardly still - usually during lectures or experiments there would be hushed whisper, or the shuffling of parchment and scratch of quills. In the silence, I dared to think I could hear the dead mer breathe.

"I will give you one final chance - if you feel that examining the effects of poison after death immoral or are squeamish to the subject, leave now. After this warning, I expect all who remain to work diligently and without hesitation." I glanced up as Bolor gazed over us, the few students curious or brave enough to work at his side. He hemmed at the silence, lip curling. "Very well. Come, then - gather round."

A bitter chemical scent rose as I approached, as my gaze moved over the corpse - the subject. Bolor insisted we call them subjects, to distance ourselves. A Dunmer, sickly green skinned with a sunken chest, lines of fatigue carved into his brow and dark bruises down his stomach. A woman beside me made a face as Bolor lifted the subject's head, tilting open its mouth and rolling it side to side as though it were a not-quite ripe fruit.

"Can anyone tell me a sign of how the subject was poisoned?"

I bit my lip, a niggling thought in the back of my head as the an Imperial man coughed. "Ah, the bruising. Much like hemophilia, it is a sign of internal bleeding. Likely it was a rat poison."

"Good." Bolor smiled - how can he smile? - and turned to me, carefully laying the subject's head down. "And what effects would rat poison have?"

"I, um." I blushed, knowing he was expecting me to answer and tumbling between the macabre subject and the feel of his lips on mine. "Rat poison would thin the blood to a lethal point, causing internal bleeding that would eventually lead to death. It seems like he - I mean, the subject - " I stumbled, words caught in my throat. "Seems like he - it, ah..."

"It wasn't accidental unless it was an idiot." The woman at my side finished, glancing at me coolly. "So the subject was murdered, obviously."

"Quite right. Had to pull strings to get the body here, I tell you. The Imperial Guard only let it go because the subject was a prisoner, and apparently not popular with his hosts." Bolor smirked, reaching into his robe to pull out a thin, curved knife with a flick of his wrist. I barely managed to bite back a gulp before the niggling thought became whole.

Poison.

Pappa's face came to mind for an instant, blurred and vague. I swallowed the lump in my throat, pursing my lips. I can't remember his face.

"Now, then. Move aside, you." Bolor nudged a student out of his way, moving to the prisone - the subject's body, turning it onto its back and pointing to a sickly wound in its back. "As you can see, the poison was administered through a weapon - an arrow. The entry wound should still - ah, hah." Bolor moved his gloved finger around the wound, a cringe shuddering through the room as it gave puss. "It has thickened slightly over time, but some of the poison remains around the wound. And if I'm right..." Bolor slid the curved blade under the subject's flesh in the wound, tugging gently and prodding around it. "Yes, the arrowhead is still lodged in there. Guards couldn't be bothered to get rid of it, I suppose. Surprised they even ripped off the shaft." The Imperial jerked back as Bolor stood, raising a brow. "Now, what could have saved this subject from his death? What restorative techniques should be administered in this case?"

The class moved slowly, our answers precise but hesitant, Bolor treating the body as I had the apple he gave me on my first day at the university. As time passed, I began to slip into his mindset - seeing this as a lesson, a subject, a simple form of teaching so I could better learn the exact nuances of Alchemy and Restoration. I became absorbed in identifying the poison we extracted, the scent that wrenched at my gut seeming to fade into nothing as my world focused on my tools, my work.

It was then I began to understand what Bolor did - how he did it. And somehow, without the painful tug I'd felt before, I thought of papa. Of the times I sat by his side and watched him work, there-not-there and wanting him to myself as he eased the suffering of those around him, smiling. Bolor is the same way. Same hide-stitch, Falrung used to say. Yet, they were so different. I paused, pursing my lips and staring into the dark vat of oil and poison, the elements separating, spiraling.

"Dust?"

I caught my breath as Bolor's hand landed on my shoulder, relaxing as he gave me a gentle squeeze. He met my eye with a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes. Just thinking."

"About what?" Bolor slid beside me, watching my extraction boil and swirl. "You did well, by the way. Very diligent, my dear."

"...Thank you." I barely heard him, staring into the vat, trying to concentrate without the painful process of thinking, because whenever I delved into my memory of Alchemy -

"So. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word fled my lips before I could stop it, an instinctive response from the days when Toltette wanted to care for me - when he thought he could be a father to me. I didn't shift as Bolor sidled closer, as he cleared his throat and hemmed.

"You're a terrible liar. Work on your Illusion." I could hear the gentle smirk in his voice. "Usually, when I call you 'dear' you flush red a tomato. You hardly flinched. Come, now." I sighed as his arm snaked around me, as he caught my eye at last with a frown. "Was it the subject? The bastard deserved what he got, I tell you. And you can look around." He chuckled, his thumb tracing a gentle circle around my ear. "It's all cleaned up."

"I did look." I snapped without meaning to, jerking up, turning on my heel. "Didn't you see my notes, my work? I'm not some goddamn delicate princ - "I stopped short, wrapping my arms around myself and squeezing tight, wincing at Bolor's sharp words.

"My apologies, Apprentice. Shall I leave you alone?"

"No. I-I'm sorry." I sighed, collapsing back onto the chair, still unable to look on the now clean slab. "Bolor, please. I didn't - "

"I know." He murmured, squeezing beside my, sliding his palm across my cheek so our gazes would meet. "The first is always the hardest. And you did work well. The subject was a murderer, you know." Another pause, long and thoughtful. "You needn't worry yourself over him."

I pursed my lips, letting myself relax onto his shoulder, blinking away the sting of tears. "It - it wasn't..."

It wasn't the subject. But I didn't dare tell him. I left High Rock to leave it all behind. I worried at my lip, breath held. I left because...

Magicka?

I gasped, pulling from Bolor as I felt the sweet, alluring whisper of a charm spell sinking into me. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"Eh. A spell?" Bolor grinned sheepishly, letting the spell fade from his hands. "I think you should talk about it, Dust. No sense in keeping it all bottled up."

"No sense in using a damn charm spell on me, either." I frowned, staring hard at him. The taste of the spell's energy lingered in my throat, sweet and beguiling and why, exactly, was I angry? Bolor has such lovely eyes. Why did - I cursed, turning to dispel his charm and rounding on him again. "Damn, that was strong. I thought you were Necromancer, not an Illusionist."

"A bit of both." Bolor smirked, waggling his fingers at me. "And that's a post-humous restorer to you, Apprentice. Now, then." He stood, slipping an arm around my waist, charming me again with just his smile. "As your superior, I order you to tell me what is on your mind. Let's go for a walk."

The moons were shadowed, leaving trails of dim silver light across the silent grounds. I took a deep, slow breath of fresh air, cool and sweet and moist from spring night chill. Bolor glanced up, eyes dark and strange as he took me by the hand and lead me to the alchemical gardens.

"Here. Sit."He grinned as I winced at the feel of cold stone, and I couldn't resist smiling back as I felt his gentle spell of warmth cloak my shoulders. "And tell me everything."

"What if..." I trailed away, stalling, but his smile was near as potent as his spell. "What if someone sees us?"

Bolor waved his hand, brushing off my concern. "At this time of night? All sleeping. Trust me. I always roam the grounds in the evening." A slow, soft chuckle. "No more dodging. _Talk."_

Slowly, I did. My story came out in shards, little pieces of memory like when Maman found me playing with wormwood, or when Falrung soothed away the pain of cutting my knee. Like waking up in his lap, like leaving my father behind. The sheep's cries, the smell of hide and wool, the tall, whispering trees of Mournoth waving goodbye.

I swore I wouldn't cry.

I did anyway.

I was quiet, when I did, and I wiped my tears away before Bolor could see them. Still, he pulled my against him, stroking my hair, whispering a calming spell that I welcomed. As I began to drift to sleep, he told me his life - of his days in Morrowind, his father. I don't remember when I fell asleep.

Only that I woke up, warm and exhausted, with him at my side.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_My sweet Dusty,_

_How are you, darling? I can hardly believe so much time has passed, since I've last seen you. The house is too quiet without you._

I smiled as I thumbed mum's thin, delicate words across parchment, catching the sweet whiff of mint from the leaf she always left in the envelope. The day was quiet - my training as a Scholar had just finished, and I had been given a day off. Mum's voice echoed as I read, sending a pang of longing through me.

_This old mansion seems so empty - all my little birds have flown the nest, I suppose. Anya is having her third child, and you, my sweet, are moving up in the world! I was so delighted to hear about your progress. Three years, and already you're a Scholar, a teacher. Perhaps you'll find work, now, with one of the guilds. _

_Work_. I frowned, crinkling the paper and sighing as I glanced around the empty archives._ But I'm happy here. This is my work._ Even if it didn't always feel like it - sometimes spending the day in the archives with Tar-Meena, sorting books and giggling over nothing, others wandering the grounds with both Bolor and her, soaking in sunshine and reminiscing as we watched the Apprentices. Not to mention the nights. I flushed, uncrossing my legs that still pleasantly ached. _But she doesn't need to know about that._

_Speaking of work, I believe it's about time you began working on finding a husband. I won't force you, darling, you know that, but I hate the idea of you in the Imperial City, all alone._ I grimaced, scoffing in my throat as I read on. _Not that you can't manage alone, I'm sure. Ah, Dust, I know I'm mothering you. If all my little birds have flown the nest, I suppose I should let them spread their wings. Write back soon!_

_With love - Maman_

"Oh, mum." I smiled crookedly, fingering her letters once more before folding it neatly away. Her letters always made me ache for her, for home, even knowing I would never leave the University if I had my way. Seeing the wide-eyed students gape at the sight of my more volatile potions, or at Bolor's increasingly controversial work - I frowned, sweeping my desk clear of scattered papers and neatly arranging my alchemical tools. Teaching them, passing on what I'd learned. I knew it was my calling, as it was Bolor's. I knew we were meant to share that, together.

The door cracked open, and I grinned. _Speak of the demon._ "Come in, Bolor. I'm just cleaning up to get back to work."

"How did you know it was me?" Bolor miffed, his nose wrinkled, eyes glittering. I snickered, giving a cautionary glance at the door to make sure it was closed before laying a peck on his cheek. "And why are you working now, my dear? It's your day off. You should be celebrating."

"I _did_ celebrate."

"You had one drink of watery ale with the students at lunch." Bolor chuckled, long fingers resting on my shoulders. "I'd hardly call that a _celebration_. I had something rather more fun in mind."

"That's _all _you have on your mind." I smirked even as I rolled dried redwort between my fingers, my newest potion idea swimming in mind. "Which means you can help me. Draw some water, would you? I need to get this boiling."

"Redwort?" He raised a brow, taking a pinch for himself. "An aphrodisiac? How_ industrious_ of you."

"It _is_ industrious! Finding ways to fund the university is an admirable pursuit." I thanked him as he handed me water, slowly tipping it into my cauldron and watching it begin to simmer. "And I enjoy doing this."

"Oh?" I shivered pleasantly at the subtle want in his voice. "And what about tonight?"

"Well." I giggled helplessly as he kissed beneath my ear, tickling. "_That_ will be enjoyable, too."

"Good. I'll leave you to this, for now." I nearly purred as he dragged his fingers over the nape of my neck before rising, smiling wryly. " You should use some monkshood, as well. I'll see you tonight, Scholar."

I released my breath slowly as the door closed, a flush creeping up my cheeks. _Well._ I grinned, stirring the water as it boiled and slowly tilting redwort in to soften. _If that isn't good inspiration, I don't know what is._

I hardly paid attention to the passing time, to the sun setting just beyond me as I pored over my work. It was soothing, somehow - the smells, the heat, even as sweat beaded on my brow when I watched my potion thicken. Distantly, I thought of my childhood, my father. I remembered ripping apart leaves for him, churning poultices, smelling the old, musty jars as he administered them...

"Dust?"

I jerked awake, my head fogged. Something smelled sweet, arousing, and I - _my potion_! I jerked fully awake from my desk, shrieking at the sight of the brew nearly boiling over. I swallowed a lump in my throat as I flung a desperate frost spell, freezing the cauldron solid.

_"Dust!"_

"Tar-Meena!" I turned from my work, still flushed and panting. "Sorry! I must have dozed off while it simmered, I didn't even - "

"It's fine." Tar-Meena smiled softly, but a glimmer of concern lay hidden in her gaze. I rubbed sleep from my eyes, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"The Arch Mage wants to see you. Now," she stressed as I turned my back. "So don't dawdle, or take another nap."

"Hey!" I grinned, letting a fire spell barely heat the potion back to liquid. "It was an accident. Do you think it's about my potion for funds?"

Tar-Meena sighed. "I... don't know, for sure. You'd better hurry, in any case."

"I will. Once I get back, why don't we have something to eat?" I paused as I corked a sample of the potion, meeting her eye. "You look awful."

"I'm alright." Again, that sad smile. "Go on."

I raced outside under the warm blanket of a spring evening, holding my brew close as I dashed upstairs. I didn't have a clue if it would work, or if boiling it for so long had killed it, but at least it smelled nice. And it was better than going empty handed. I slowed before the Arch Mage's door, mustering up my courage before rapping against it.

"Yes, come in."

"Thank you." I whispered, more meekly than I meant. He probably didn't even hear me through the door. I pushed inside, poking my head through and going pale.

Not just the Arch Mage, but _three_ men, old and wise and none particularly pleased looking.

"Miss Dust." Ocato stood, casting a mild gaze on me. His voice was frosty, and I felt little more warmth from the men seated behind him. "Please, have a seat. I'm afraid we have something to discuss."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's Note -** This chapter is for Lawlrus. Thanks for the encouragement! Even if I have only one reader out there, that helps me keep going. =3

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"Have a seat, Scholar."

"Y-yes." I barely managed to respond as I made my way to the only empty chair, poised in front of the Imperial and Breton that regarded me. The Arch Mage sat between them, his long, golden fingers folded in his lap as he met my eye.

"Allow me to introduce you to my colleagues. Raminus Polus." The Imperial nodded, grim and stoic. "And Hannibal Traven. This is the young Scholar I wished to discuss."

I flushed, worrying my lip. _Discuss?_ The Breton smiled kindly, more grandfatherly than professional.

"Ah, yes. Good to meet you, my dear." I took the hand he offered, shaking it gingerly. His skin was cold and smooth, like leather, hanging heavy from his knuckles. "Ocato has informed me of your progress."

Ocato cleared his throat. I felt small under their gaze, small and childish. "Do you know why I have called you here, Miss Dust?"

"I… I'm not certain, Arch Mage." I faltered, reaching clumsily for my potion and wincing at his frown. "I had thought it was about the potion I was to make, to sell for University funding." The silence was oppressive, and I was desperate to fill it. "It boiled overlong, but I believe it will work all the same. I, I can begin labeling and selling immediately, or I can – "

"That's quite alright." Ocato's smile held a mixture of amusement and pity, making me cringe inwardly. "I'm afraid that is not the issue, although it is certainly more evidence to my point."

I dared to voice my thoughts. "Your… point, sir?"

The Arch mage glanced at Traven, some secret knowledge between them. "It has come to my attention you spend much of your time in the company of Bolor Savel. Am I correct?"

"…Yes, sir. I do." No point in lying. "I find him to be both an admirable colleague and a good friend. The aphrodisiac – er, _potion_," I winced, flushing. "It wouldn't have been completed without his help."

Traven glanced up suddenly, gaze sharp. "Why? What is in it?"

"Redwort, apple seeds, honey…" I pursed my lips, remembering my own scrawled recipe. "Powdered fire salts, aloe vera stalk, monkshood at his suggestion, plenty of water…"

"Ah." Traven relaxed. "Nothing… unusual, then."

"No, sir. I've always felt that the best ingredients are often the most simple." I paused. "Unusual?"

"Undead." Polus spoke, evenly as though chatting over tea. "Human hearts, skin, that sort of thing. No such ingredients in that, are there?"

"_No!"_ I jerked, forgetting myself as I scowled. "It's for human consumption! I wouldn't…" I blanched at the men's frowns, swallowing. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, I'd never put any such thing in something that is going to be _drunk."_

"Good." Ocato sighed, standing and lacing his fingers together in thought. "I am glad he has not had such an effect on you. You are an intelligent student, Dust, an asset to this school. It would pain me to see you fall to his depths."

"_Fall to his depths_?" I echoed, brow furrowed. "I was under the impression that you _condoned _his work, sir. Bolor's study of the dead has had much effect on the art of Restoration, and – "

"I understand that, Scholar." Ocato cut me off sharply, eyes flashing. I shrunk. "However, times have changed. I can no longer tolerate Necromancy in this school, no matter what form it may take." He turned on me, frowning. "Bolor's experimentation has... once again become unethical."

"_What _experimentation?" Anger rose in me, injustice and intolerance. "What has he done except study the bodies of the dead? Arch Mage, _why – "_

"Do not presume, Miss Dust." Traven spoke, sighing. "The Arch Mage has lived far longer and seen much more than you or I. You must trust his judgement."

"Or have Savel's views effected you, after all?" Polus narrowed his eyes. "It seems the best and brightest always become the most corrupt."

"_Corrupt?"_ I flared, rising to my feet and near shouting. "By what right do you – "

"Gentleman! Scholar!" Ocato waved his hand, hushing us both and making me shrink back into my seat with but a glance. "I understand your distress, Miss Dust. However, as Traven said, there is far more at work here than you may know. Bolor has a rather dark history, I'm afraid."

"…Dark?" I stilled, the word lodging in my throat until I sputtered. "I, I don't _understand…"_

Ocato sighed, a long, drawn sound that seemed to echo into his very bones. "In the past, Bolor exhibited great intelligence, great promise. As did another student, a Dunmer woman. They worked together often." He rubbed his brow, shaking his head slowly. "At first, the work they did was revolutionary. Slowly, however, it turned – unethical. Vile. Necromancy, and far worse." His gaze landed on me once more, piercing. "He and the woman managed to convert several students to their views, to a near obsession with power before the woman as expelled and the crisis diverted."

"Bolor was only permitted to stay because he swore off the studies he had conducted, swore to recant if he as allowed to continue his Necromancy. He was bright. We did not wish to lose him." The words echoed dully inside me, thudding in my brain. "I should have realized it was too late."

"Do you see now, Miss Dust?" Polus watched me, speaking as though to a child. "The Mer is corrupt. We have reason to believe he is engaging once again in unethical acts."

_Corrupt. Vile. Necromancer._ None of these made sense to me. All I could think of was sweet Bolor, stroking my hair, telling me silly stories, his long, dark fingers closing the clasp to my necklace. I fingered it, staring at nothing. "I don't believe that."

"A pity." Ocato murmured, eyes lidded, emotionless. "But I will not hold against you, Scholar. I understand that you are… close." I clenched my hands, watching my knuckles turn white. "However, understand that should you witness Bolor doing anything out of bounds – dissecting, grave digging, or even resurrecting the dead – you are to report it to me _immediately."_

The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them, cool and venomous. "And if I don't?"

"Then you suffer the consequences of his actions, whether you are a bystander or there is blood on your hands."

"So you expect me to – to _spy_ on him, is that it?" I choked on my words. "Arch Mage, how can you expect me to do this? What dire acts did he commit, what atrocities, why - ?" An unvoiced thought – _and why ask me?_

"He may be a threat to this school, to all it represents." Traven spoke again, grim. "We cannot tolerate any such threat to the reputation or students of the Arcane University. You are bound to obey the council, or you shall be expelled."

"Arch Mage Ocato, you've never shown intolerance to Necromancy or Bolor's work before, not while I've been here." I stood and turned on him, eyes flashing. I no longer felt small even as he towered over me, my anger growing hot and sickly. "Why now? If he was so damned corrupt, why didn't you throw him out before? What has changed?"

A dangerous whisper. "Times have changed."

"But _why - ?"_

"I will speak of this no longer." Ocato's voice held no anger – only an unquestionable authority. "You will never speak of this meeting, you will do as you have been told and you will obey the Council's ruling – without question."

"The Arch Mage is showing you a great kindness, Scholar." Traven murmured, eyeing me with something uncomfortably like pity. "You could be prosecuted as Bolor will be, and this outburst could easily have had you expelled." A long, withered sigh. "I've seen your work, Dust, your Alchemy. I'm quite the Alchemist, myself." He smiled softly. "Don't risk your entire career because of this mer. You have much greater promise than that."

"I don't," I croaked. "Not like he has. I've seen his work, worked with him. I _trust _him."

"More than the Arch Mage, more than the Council itself?"

"N-no – yes. I don't know."

"I will add some incentive, Scholar, though you shouldn't need it." The Arch Mage said briskly, his gaze unnerving. "Hannibal Traven is one of the finest Alchemists to grace this school, and he is seeking an apprentice to carry on those skills. Should you report upon Bolor truthfully, you may accompany him to Summerset Isle – free of expense, of course."

_Summerset Isle_. A chill crept down my spine. Home of the first school, of the two greatest arcane masters to walk Tamriel. My words came brittle through my dry throat. "I won't need to report him. None of this makes sense, he's done nothing _wrong."_

"That is not for you to decide, Dust." Traven murmured. "Someday, you will understand."

"Come. We have spoken enough." Ocato moved behind me, escorting me to the door. "You understand what is expected of you, and the consequences. I will expect a report from you tomorrow evening on the eight hour, promptly."

_...None_ of it made sense.

I left immediately, my footsteps echoing through the halls. Across the dewy grounds, the blooms with their heads bowed, under the cloak of night to the archives. I dealt with it the only way I knew how - research.

I gathered every book, every paper I could find on Necromancy - hardly more than an arm's worth. Books on the history, on the trials, on Mannimarco himself, but I only skimmed over these. It was the couriers I carefully read, my fingers dancing on each scrap of yellowing parchment until I found one that made my skin crawl.

Graves ripped apart. Secret cults. Attacks from the walking dead on small villages, picked clean for fresh corpses. My throat stung with bile as I turned the page over, my fingers curling away from the grotesque sketch of a zombie. It made no sense. I'd worked with mort flesh before, known it was once a living thing, but seeing it in ink with hollow eyes and a gaping jaw, knowing it was once not only living but _thinking _- made my stomach churn.

_Did Bolor do this?_

I set my jaw as I stood, crisply folding the page and slipping it into my robe. I would prove him innocent. I would show them, prove to them his value, if it took every last ounce of my strength and will. I marched to my room to sleep at last, determined and steadfast._ I can change this. I can fix this._

The emporer died the next day.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Author's Note** - I can't thank you guys enough for the reviews. It really helps me keep going to know people are reading, and enjoying Dusty's story! Thank you!

* * *

"Have you heard yet? Can you _believe_ it?"

I crept past crowds of students speaking in hushed tones, their eyes wide, rumours flying. No one had missed the news, and everyone had their own theory as to exactly what had happened.

"He was assassinated, wasn't he? By the Dark Brotherhood!"

"Don't be stupid, the Dark Brotherhood doesn't exist. It had to be the Neraverine, looking for more power from Cyrodiil."

I swept through the bedlam, somehow still trapped in my own little world as all of Tamriel panicked. The emperor's death meant nothing to me, and Ocato's ultimatum from last night still sat sickly in my mind. I worried my lip. _Bolor…_

"There you are!" I gasped, jerked from my thoughts by a hand clamping around my shoulder, pulling me over. _Bolor._ I winced. "You've heard, haven't you? Assassinated, the emperor and his three sons. I thought it was a rumour, but – "

"I know, I heard." I didn't dare meet his eye, scared he would see into me, see the secret I held. "I – I need to talk to you, now."

"In just a moment, Dust. Look."

I followed Bolor's gesture, watching the Arch Mage and Royal guards ascended the stairs. The sun glinted off their armour, flashes of warning as shouts for order rose.

"A speech." Bolor murmured next to me. His hand slipped idly into mine – it took all my strength not to jerk away. "Wonder what he has to say."

"Students of the Arcane University." Ocato's voice boomed, magnified by magicka and the grandeur he possessed. "You have all heard the terrible news – our Emperor and his sons are dead. We are without an heir. This effects all of Tamriel, including this school."

"What will they do?" I murmured, more to myself than anyone. Bolor hushed me.

"In my capacity as Arch Mage and Head of the Elder Council, I have been elected Chancellor during this time of crisis."

"What does that _mean?"_

"Shh!"

"In light of this, I have selected a successor who will take my place as Arch Mage immediately. I leave this school in the capable hands of Arch Mage Hannibal Traven."

My blood froze.

"All classes have been cancelled for today, to allow for reorganization and for mourning of our beloved Emperor." Ocato towered over his listeners, suddenly more than Arch Mage, but ruler – ruler of the empire, of Tamriel. "Pray for him, and may the Nine guide us in this most difficult time. Thank you."

"Traven." Bolor growled, his hand clenching on me just a bit too tightly. "Of all the old bastards he could have chosen..."

My throat went dry, my voice a croak as I feigned ignorance. "Wh-why? Who is he?"

"He was the Chapterhead of Anvil. He's a notorious enemy of Necromancy and it's practicers." Bolor scoffed, tugging me along behind him as the crowd dispersed. "Evils of Necromancy, my blue arse. The twit wouldn't recognize magicka if it bit him on the nose, too busy dabbling in those useless potions of his." He glanced at me carelessly, barely catching my attention. "No offense, sweet."

"None ta - where are we _going_?" I hissed as he dragged me along behind him, maneuvering me through the crowd like a child before slipping into one of the walled gardens. Not quite hidden in the shifting shadows and vines he pulled me towards him, hands clasped on my shoulders, eyes flashing.

"Dust. This could be very, very bad for me."

"...I know." I barely managed a whisper, my heart splitting as he idly played with my necklace. "Will he get rid of Necromancy?" More unspoken questions - _will he get rid of you?_

"I don't know. I would assume." Bolor's thin lips twisted. "Ocato has been on my back more and more, these past few weeks, but I never expected this." He glanced towards the grounds, hemming before grasping my hand and pulling me along once again. I felt like a rag doll, being helplessly jerked around, but I didn't know what to do. I followed him into the Mage's Quarters, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"On your back about what? I thought your work was appro - "

"Not so loud. Come to my room."

And suddenly, I felt it - that sense of sinister and secrecy, of being pulled into something dark and twisted as Sirius's face flashed in my mind. I pulled away, wincing under Bolor's harsh gaze. Gnawing at my lip, I followed, our footsteps echoing eerily down the corridor and the door booming shut behind me.

"There, now." Bolor sighed, sitting on his bed, staring at nothing. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Talk?" I choked. "Oh, yes. I just... I wanted..."

"Come here." Bolor smiled softly, moving aside to make room for me before lacing his fingers in mine. I bit back a shudder, closing my eyes. "You're trembling like a leaf. I'll be alright, Dust."

_No. You won't._

But I couldn't tell him that.

I meant to hold it back, meant to stop it, but when his hand brushed my cheek, I just... broke. I blinked furiously, burying myself in the crook of his neck, warm and safe.

_Why is this happening?_

"You don't need to fear for me. I've encountered such prejudice before." Bolor soothed, stroking my neck as he murmured. "There are other ways, Dust, other paths to pursue. We don't need the school."

I listened, utterly silent.

"They're_ blind_, love. Blind to what we can accomplish, blind to what we could do. They're trying to hold us back. They fear us." A faint smile. "As they should. We have power, you and I."

Power. Fear. I pulled away, hugging myself tight and staring at my feet if only to avoid his gaze._ Creative use of footwear..._ "What do you mean?"

"Your potions are incredible, sweet. I've never seen the like." He stood, pacing. "And Necromancy has such use for potions, such applications. Bonemeal, mort flesh, lich skin, all are potent. Think of what you could _do_, Dust, if it weren't for the fools trying to hold us back! Think of the possibilities!"

"Bolor." I played with the necklace, lips pursed. "What you do - it's approved, isn't it? All I've seen are dissections, lessons on restoration." I gulped. "It _is _approved. Isn't it?"

A slow, creeping frown made my heart plummet. "That doesn't matter, Dust."

_No. Please, please, no, it does matter. _It took all my strength not to shrink when he reached for me, not to jerk away when he moved to help me stand. "Where are we going now?"

"The basement, to my laboratory. I have something I want to show you."

Strange instruments, musty smells, old, yellowing scrolls - I knew it all. I'd been born and bred in research - from working with my father as a tot to my Apprenticehood here. It shouldn't have frightened me, the sights and sounds and smells closer to me than my own family, but they did. Bolor kept his arm around me - trying to comfort me, perhaps, in his own way - and only made my stomach churn. _I hate skirting around like this, from place to secret place…_

"Now, listen to me." Bolor tugged me inside just a little too harshly, his eyes flashing dark as he doublechecked the lock behind him. Our laboratories were separate, to allow for quiet experimentation and the walls were thick, impenetrable stone. _I'm trapped. But I've been here with him, so many times before…_

"What I want to show you is _revolutionary._ It has been my work for decades, and I have been forced to keep it hidden." Disgust dripped from his words. "All because of their blindness, their idiocy. Working on nothing but dissection and lessons has been _torture_ for me. If it weren't –" I gasped when he clasped my hands, squeezing them tight, "if it weren't for you, I'd have left long ago.

"Bolor," I croaked, wanting to pull away as I had when we'd first met, when I'd first feared what might be on his hands. Then, I'd feared sickness. Now, I feared blood. "What is it? What have you _done?"_

"I've created something brilliant!" He let me go and swept past, voice a hiss but seething with fire. He moved from sight, into the darkness of his closet, and –

Oh. _Oh_, whatever was in that closet, it wasn't robes. I froze at the smell, coughing quietly and edging towards him. Chemical and rotting and – and –

"This is it, Dust." Bolor smiled ever so softly, eyes shadowed. "Meet my dear friend. Say hello, my dear."

The thing was rotted, rotted and _moving_ and I shuddered as it moved its arm – offering the slick, splintered remains of a hand. It's eyes – _her_ eyes – were glassy bright, untouched by years of decay, her jaw trembling like my own.

"Undead." I stared, unmoving. "You raised the dead."

"Pah! Simple necromancy. There is more to her. My sweet," I jerked, for a moment, thinking he spoke to me, but the – the _thing_ turned instead, its head creaking and long hair clinging to her rotted back. "Show Dust what you are. Show what you can do."

I squeaked at the scream of fire, the sudden blast of heat and scorch mark left upon the wall. A zombie. A zombie that can work _magick._ I shuddered, turning back to him, it, them.

"Do you see the eyes? I restored them myself before resurrecting her, teaching her." Bolor whispered as though telling me a childhood secret, excited like a child. "She can see, Dust, she can _think. _Zombies are creatures of automatic response, hardly more than shuffling innards, but she is sentient. She is the next step to resurrecting humans from the dead whole."

_No. No. No._ Bolor _caressed_ the thing's cheek before it turned to me, eyes unblinking, jaw creaking. Speaking. A slow, creeping croak – _help me._

"She's in pain." I whispered. My tears broke at last as I shuddered, stepping away from it, her, _who was she?_

"Naturally. But I couldn't wait any longer to see what she could do." Bolor smirked, a wolfish grin. "She's incredible, isn't she? The old eyes had to be replaced, of course, but – "

"_Replaced."_

"Yes, with another's. Fresh. They remain so, now." Bolor moved towards me, closing the distance between us in a stride. "Can't you see? I am working on immortality, Dust, on the ultimate magicka."

"No."

"_Yes._ Please, Dust, you must understand. You have such a brilliant mind, such an open mind – " A pause, eyes darkening. "Such an open heart. We don't need this school, or their binds. Leave with me."

"Dust! Are you down there?"

Bolor jerked, eyes narrowing at Tar-Meena's call. "Don't respond."

"They sent me to watch you." I snapped at last, the words spilling from my lips, burning in my throat. "Ocato sent me to spy on you. He said – you _are _corrupt. You _are_."

A dead silence, broken by Bolor's whisper. "I should have known."

"Please, Bolor, we don't need this." I no longer tried to hold up any sign of courage, gasping through sobs. "_Stop_ this. They'll let you stay, I know they will, if you just – just stop. I'll convince them_**. **__Please_, Bolor." I met his gaze, hiccupping.

For an instant, a sweet instant, I saw a flicker of hope. A flicker of kindness, of regret in his eyes, the crimson eyes I'd come to love so dearly.

Then, the hiss of magicka, and all went black.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

My head – my head _aches_. A slow throbbing, swelling. Corpses often develop a build up of gas in the intestines and belly. Am I dead? Bolor could fix me, couldn't he? I try to speak, to say something, but my words crawl through my throat like shards of glass. My tongue is thick and stupid against my teeth. Help me. Please, please, I promise I'll be good.

I'm not – where am I? The table. The dining table, but it's impossibly huge, stretching through the void and at its end sits my stepfather. Dim, flickering candles float in nothingness, and a sickly sweet smell haunts the breathless air.

His fingers tap against wood, terribly loud cracks of reproval in my ears. I am a little girl again, squirming in my seat, feet dangling above the floor.

_You can't do anything right._ He speaks as though through a mouthful of gravel, eyes narrowed, beard bristling. _You're cursed, girl. Everything you touch dies._

No. No. No.

_Yes. First your father and his little secret, then that boy. _A sigh of exasperation. _Now this. _

I don't care what you think of me.

_No? Then why are you crying?_

And I _am _crying, like the little girl with scraped knees and a corn dollie I once was. I can't stop. I choke on my own sobs, sputtering, my eyes burning as I squeeze them shut.

_Drink this. It'll make all of this better._

Something cold against my lips, something cold and sweet yet bitter and – and wine. Poison. No, no, no, I won't drink, I won't let you do this to me you bastard!

_I did nothing. You poured the wine. Now drink. A mingling of voices, harsh and strange. Drink up, Dusty, drink up._

"Come on, Dust."

"No!" I jerked awake screaming, cringing as cold water splashed on my neck and dribbled through my gown. The world seemed bright, far too bright and loud compared to the deadly silence and cruel voice of my dreams. Another voice reached through the fog, wavering.

"It's alright, Dust. You're _safe."_

"Tar-Meena?" _Blankets. I'm in a bed. _I groaned, gingerly reaching up and cringing at the throb of protest from my head. "Where am I?"

"Your room, now. We took you from the infirmary. Thank Mara you're _awake_." I whimpered as Tar-Meena caught me in a sudden hug, smiling half-heartedly at her mumbled apology. She pulled away to meet my gaze, eyes clouded. Her hand slid against mine, curling gently. "I was so worried."

"I don't…" I blinked grit from my eyes, the remnants of a bitter dream still tainting my throat. _Toltette. But that was a dream._ I shook my head slowly, trying to drive the memory back as long as I could. _Or a nightmare._

"Jolga said you might have problems remembering." Tar-Meena seemed to speak softly for my benefit, and a glimpse out the window and jar of pain made me grateful for that. _Why does everything hurt?_ My head felt as though it might roll off my neck at any moment, and I would have been grateful for the relief. 'What _can_ you remember? From last night?"

"I remember…" I pursed my lips, squeezing my eyes tight and grimacing at the resounding ache. _The grounds. Ocato. Walking with Bolor. Traven._ "The emperor, the emperor is dead.

A rasping sigh. "What else?"

"I think…" Bolor. His name stuck to my tongue like a burr, and I couldn't shake the sickly dread from my gut. The memory crept slowly from inside me, swelling until it tumbled from my lips in a gasp. "Bolor was with – that _thing_. And he attacked me."

"He paralyzed you, we think. You fell, hit your head and blacked out." Tar-Meena gave a shuddering breath. "I was looking for you downstairs when Bolor pushed past. He didn't even _look _at me, kept walking when I asked where you were." She clenched her fists, eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. "I saw you on the floor, and the undead - " A shake of her her head, as though trying to throw off the memory. "The thing kneeling over you. By the _Nine_, Dust, I hardly blasted it to ash before I ran to you. I thought you were _dead."_

_Bolor. Bolor is gone._

_He hates me._

"Oh." A simple murmur of understanding, calm and emotionless. "What happened to him, then?"

"Bolor left. No one stopped him, they didn't know. There's a warrant for his arrest, but by the time I was able to get help..." She shrugged, sighing. "He must be halfway to Morrowind, by now."

"I see." _Why can't I feel this?_ My own mind raged at me, a furious heat under my frozen, crooked smile. _Cry, laugh, scream, something!_

"Dust?" Tar-Meena nudged gently, voice soft and sweet. "You shouldn't bottle this up. I know you're being strong, but I'm your friend. You can let your guard down."

_No sense in keeping it all bottled up._

"I should have known better." The pain in my head blossomed, throbbing with each syllable. I squeezed my eyes shut. "It was too good to be true."

"Dust." Tar-Meena frowned, brow furrowed.

"I think - I think I need to be alone."

One final, sad whisper. _"Dust."_

"Please."

I listened to her footsteps, soft whispers against stone until the creak of a door and click of a lock left me alone, in silence. I gazed at the ceiling, watching as the colours of sunset bled through the window, staining it gold. I raised my hand, curling my fingers in a dim beam and playing with the floating specks like I did when I was small. Only half-awake, until at last sleep took me again.

I don't remember much, from those days. I remember Tar-Meena by my side when I was awake, and the bitter taste of potions forced down my throat. Whatever spell Bolor used left its mark - the pain lingered, dull and aching. I remember thinking in a daze of how to make those foul potions taste better. My potions, the aphrodisiac - already labeled and packaged, Tar-Meena said. By Bolor, before he'd left. They're selling well. Somehow, that stuck, and I feel asleep after that with a bitter smile on my lips.

On - the fourth night? Fifth? I awoke, rubbing grit from my eyes and wincing at the sudden sharpness and clarity of the world.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Note**: Please read the last chapter's ending if you've read it before - it's had a big change. Sorry about that, folks, but I think we're back on track. ;)

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_Much has happened since you last wrote. Bolor is gone._

The quiet scratch of my quill and the sputter of my candle whispered together, tracing secrets in the shadows along the walls. I sighed, gazing dumbly at my curled parchment before dragging a scar of ink across it in disgust. I crumpled it, tossing it aside the rest of the letters I couldn't seem to complete.

"No, I can't start it like that..." I muttered, reaching for an apple on my desk._ I don't want to scare her, worry her._ Shaking my head I tossed the fruit hand to hand, biting my lip in thought. B_etter eat something before I chew off my face_. I laughed half-heartedly, bringing the red apple to my lips and -

_That smell._

I froze, pulling away and gazing from the harmless little fruit in my hand. It came with my evening meal, as one always did. Bright red, firm, barely sweet and tart - all for the world the same I'd eaten every day. But this...

I frowned, sinking my nails into its flesh and carefully watching. Normal. Utterly normal. But beneath the sweetness that made its way to me another scent lingered, bitter and faint and deadly.

Poison.

_Who would want me dead?_

I knew immediately, and the thought lingered in my heart more bitter than any poison. _Bolor. He's trying to kill me, trying to have me assassinated - which means there must be an assassin._ I caught my breath, the hairs on my neck prickling. Slowly, imperceptibly, I let a spell quiver on my fingertips, making the blood in my veins quicken. My fingers tinged purple, hinting at the beating heart inside me.

And that of the man behind me.

It happened in an instant, in the flick of my wrist and crash of my chair to the floor. I snatched my the letter-opener, twisting towards the door and lurching forward. My heart pounded, my throat squeezed out a scream, and some part of me void of pride prayed for help from gods I'd never cared about.

_Oh gods oh gods let me out don't let me die -_

"A pity. I didn't think you'd take the bait, but it was worth a try, was it not? A cleaner death for you, at least." I yelped as a hand clenched me by the hair, shoving me back against the wall. Footsteps. I crawled backwards, trapped between cold stone and the faint silhouette of my killer.

A slow, creeping smirk materialized from the shadows.

"Not that_ I _mind."

There was no thought, no rational system I held so dear to depend on. Only action. My gift from mother turned weapon in one hand, a spell rising from the other. My fingers numbed as I blasted frost, my spell cut short with a wave of his hand. _Kill him, kill him and run, oh gods please._ I stabbed blindly, praying.

Not that any gods _listened._

The flash of his sword met mine, a scream of steel. A hand closed around my throat, and at last I met his eyes. Dark and gleaming, his mouth twisted in a dark smile. I choked, struggling futiley - and slowly raising my weapon. _Don't let him notice_. Tears brimmed in my stinging eyes as I gasped._ Slowly. Slowly. _

"Don't... d-don't..."

"Sorry, pet. Orders are orders." I whimpered as he snatched my wrist, wrenching my only hope from my grasp. A final movement, death brushing against my throat. Maman's letter opener, his sword cast aside. I lay silent, waiting for her gift to slit open my throat.

"...Where did you get this?"

"W-what?" I stared wide-eyed, watching him as he examined the blade he had pushed against my throat.

_"Where did you get this."_ I caught my breath as he tickled beneath my jaw, his brow furrowed. "I will not ask_ again_, pet."

_Maman? No. I can't tell him that. Toltette_. "My stepfather. _Please_." I hated myself for begging. "Don't kill me."

"What is his name?"

"H-his..." I dared to look up, dared to meet his gaze and flinched. "Davide. Davide Toltette."

_I don't want to die never got to say goodbye run run run. Paralyze him and run. Yes. _I lashed out, the spell blooming from my hands. _Run and get help_. I unleashed the spell with a cry, terror propelling my feet before they petrified.

"No experience with spell reflection, my dear?" He snickered, kneeling over me as I lay paralyzed and grinning at the surprise frozen on my face. "It looks like you'll be that way for awhile. Enough time to bring you in for a little _interrogation_." I hissed in pain as he pushed his knee against my chest, wincing that the venom in his voice. "You may have complicated things, I'm afraid, but don't worry. We'll have all this sorted soon enough." Without missing a beat he slung me over his shoulder as I raged inside.

_I am not going to die, not going to be dragged away!_

Instinct, fueled by anger and terror, took over. Fighting paralyzation I sank my teeth into his shoulder, smiling inwardly at his grunt of pain. He cursed, pulling me back, smacking me sharply with a gloved fist. A ragged tear of pain split through my skull before the world crumpled upon itself, and went black.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_Where..._

I roused, trying to wade through the dredge of dull pain and confusion muddling my mind. _Why - ohmygoddamnhead. Why does it..._ A man in black, a man with a dagger to my throat, dragging me away and knocking me unconscious._ A dream. Oh, gods, please let it be a dream. Or am I dead?_ I shifted, my arms stretched taut and bound behind my back. The silence echoed, throbbing in my skull. _Quiet_. I pressed against the silence, daring a groan.

"Ah, good. You are awake."

A Breton voice, definitely - _Traven?_ I opened my eyes at last, blinking blearily as the world swam into view. "Arch Mage, I -" I stopped short. A gaunt, dark-eyed man sat before me, hair bound in a leather strip and gaze sharp on me. _Not Traven. Definitely not Traven._

"Who..." I managed, gritting my teeth against the resounding throb in my head. My binds held me tight, and with a hiss I fought against them.

"Don't bother struggling. I will rip out your throat, should you become tiresome." He seemed unaffected by my flinch, eyeing me cooly. "Understand?"

_Play along. Play along until you get your chance, and escape._ Slowly, I nodded.

"Good." He smiled, intertwining his fingers and leaning toward me._ Sharp teeth. Too sharp. And those eyes..._ I shivered as he spoke. "What is your name?"

"Dust. Gabriel Dust." I tensed, biting my lip. "What do you want with me? Aren't I supposed to be dead?"

He laughed softly. "How forward. I don't suppose you are _asking_ me to kill you?" He shook his head at my murmur. "I thought not. I have no intention of explaining the situation to you, Miss Dust."

_I need information._ I gnawed my lip, staring hard at the man as he gazed mildly back at me. _A vampire. I'm tied up with a bloody vampire._ "Who are you?"

"That, I suppose I can answer. At least in part." He tilted his head, casting his sanguine eyes over me. "You may call me Vicente."

"How long have I been here?"

That laugh again, too soft to be mocking, too amused to be polite. "Bold. As I've said, I - "

"Vicente! Vee!"

The vampire sighed, pressing his temple. "Antoinetta, I have told you time and time again _not _to call me that. What do you need, sister?"

A woman came bounding around the corner, blonde curls bouncing around her chin, eyes gleaming. She caught my stare and grinned, moving with a hum to Vicente's side. I barely contained a snort. _An assassin? That girl is a killer?_

"I wanted to see the prisoner. Oh, she doesn't look so good." The girl pursed her lips, then smiled. "Wonderful. Why do we even need her tied up? I could slit her throat before she could flinch."

_Oh._ I grimaced, trying to shrink back in my chair as far as possible. _Alright. Yes. Definitely a killer._

"Wonderful, indeed. I believe it is time for you to take over, yes, sister?" Vicente stood, giving Antoinetta a warm, wry smile. "I grew weary of watching her, and I have other tasks to attend to."

"But - "

"Antoinetta."

"But!"

_"Sister."_

"Fine." She sat with a curse, pouting after Vicente as he left before turning her gaze on me. "You'd better be entertaining."

I watched her silently, a bitter taste clinging to the back of my throat. It was too familiar, what I'd just seen. Like squabbling with Anya. "He called you sister."

"I don't look like him, do I?" She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "That'd be _awful._ No, we're not related. It's something better than that." She smiled, a dimple at the corner of her cheek. "Now, don't ask any more stupid questions or I'll cut your tongue out. The Speaker will deal with you soon, anyway."

"The Speaker?" I flinched at her glare, remembering her threat.

"Speaker. The man who was going to_ kill _you." She enunciated as though talking to a child, rolling her eyes. "There must be a reason he kept you alive. Though you don't look too valuable." She narrowed her eyes. "What's your name?"

"Dust. Gabriel Dust." I squeezed my eyes shut against the throb of pain in my head, snarling. "Why am I here? What do you people _want _from me?"

"Don't be rude!" The girl pouted. "I'm not really sure. Something about the dagger you had on you, Vee said. Wait..." I watched as she fumbled with her belt, brandishing a blade and baring it before me. "Like this one."

Silver and ebony, tendrils of gold whispering over its surface. This dagger had seen years of use - it was worn and dulled around its edges. _Not mine, but._.. I bit my lip, following the golden design with my eyes, catching my breath as the sprig of nightshade it held.

_Identical. Identical to mine._

"It looks like yours, right?" Antoinetta smirked, sheathing it. "Only _we_ can possess one. It means we're family, you know. A family of murderers!" She giggled, eyes shining. "But you're not one of us, are you?"

A sinister feeling rose from my gut. "...No."

"So, who gave it to you?"

_Maman could never have afforded it._ I shifted my gaze, gluing my eyes to the ground. Not while Papa was alive. _So Toltette. It was Toltette's, and he gave it to her. _

_Papa died, and Toltette took us away._

"My stepfather." I whispered, my skin prickling as his face, cruel as from my nightmare, arose. _He killed him. He killed Papa, and Falrung_. I shuddered, something deep inside my twisting into a painful coil._ He's one of them, gets what he wants through blood. Killed him, wedded and bedded my mother, ripped our family apart._

"You're all pale." Antoinetta glanced at me curiously. "What's wrong?"

A family of murderers ripped my family apart. "Family," I spat, bracing my feet against the floor, clenching my jaw. "_Family._ That's what's wrong."

"Sister."

"Oh!" She rose, clutching her hands and smiling at the distant voice. "Speaker, what an honour. How may I serve?"

"You may attend to your duties, Antoinetta." Unable to turn I could only imagine, connecting the face with the voice. Dark eyes, a proud nose, lips thin and harsh and twisted in a smirk. "I would like to speak with our friend here."

The girl scurried away. I tensed, flinching at the creak of the door, watching as a man seemed to simply form from the shadows.

"Hello, _poppet."_


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the reviews, and for waiting! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

_Speaker._

The man moved towards me in robes liquid black, gloved hands intertwined and a dark smile on his lips. I watched him carefully, eyes narrowing as he moved past me. He pulled something from his robes, a coy scent rising. Wine. I pursed my lips as he poured, something sinister and familiar niggling in the back of my brain.

"My apologies for the wait, Miss Dust." He gave a small smile, cultured and cool. I shuddered, and the barest sign of a smirk tugged his lip as he offered me a silver goblet. "Might I offer you a drink?"

"My hands are tied, you fetcher," I snarled, my head throbbing from our earlier encounter. "Unless you want to _bottlefeed_ me, I don't think I'll be having a drink." I grimaced. "And you've poisoned it, no doubt."

"Suit yourself." He gave a lazy shrug, sipping from his own and holding my gaze as I glowered. Cold and cruel and refined. His smile remained polite, but his eyes were ice. Even as I hated myself for it, I couldn't quite stop a shiver from clambering up my spine.

"Who are you?"

"Ah, of course. I am Lucien Lachance." He bowed his head as he spoke, a mockery of courtesy. "Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood, and Master of this Sanctuary." He - Lucien raised a brow as I watched the wine, shrinking as though it might bite."I assure you, its not poisoned. I have no wish to kill you." A dark laugh. "For the moment. And I_ do _apologize for the binding."

"So what are you keeping me for, then, if you're not going to kill me?" I hissed with surprising venom, able to taste the acidity of my own words. "I don't think - " I was cut short by the snick of his blade, my throat tightening. I held perfectly still as he swept around me, poising his blade at the arch of my back.

_He said he wouldn't - oh, gods, I'm going to die. _

"Hold still."

My bindings fell loose. Puzzled I rubbed my wrists, burned and raw from rope. I spoke hesitantly, hardly daring to break the sudden silence. "...Are you freeing me?"

"Freeing you? No." That smirk again, setting my blood aflame as his words set in with finality. "Not yet. I simply see no point in keeping you bound for the remainder of your stay. And I have no intention of, ah, _bottle-feeding_ you." I flushed at my own words as he offered me the goblet again. "High Rock's finest. Your home, was it not?"

"Years ago. Not anymore." Some part of me, the part that drove me to alchemy, drove me to magick, perked in curiosity as I examined the wine. _He drank it_. I ran my finger around its rim, raising my finger to the light to catch the faintest glimmer of potion._ Of course. He laced the cup. _" What's the serum on it, then? Something to loosen my tongue?" I laughed bitterly. "Wine alone could do that."

"I suppose it could. You're quite the alchemist, pet." I grimaced as his former name for me, setting the wine aside. "A shame we met in such poor circumstances. Your services could do much for the Dark Brotherhood. Perhaps, if your stepfather is indeed one of our own - "

Stepfather. _Services._

"I want to hire you." The words tumbled from my lips, curt and cold. He paused, frowning. I smiled inwardly at having caught him off-guard.

"Hire me?" Lucien spoke slowly, as though tasting his words. A slow smile curved his lip. "I'm afraid you are in no position to do so, but you've piqued my interest." He leaned back, smirking. "Whatever could you need _me_ for, my dear?"

"My stepfather. I want him dead." _Dead, like Papa. Like Falrung and Sirius and anyone else he's ever killed._ There was no thought behind my words, only a cold, bitter thirst for justice. "I'll pay well. Whatever you ask."

A sharp laugh, wry and twisted. "But your stepfather is the reason we cannot kill _you_, Miss Dust. The dagger you held on the night we met, you claim it belongs to him. That makes him one of us, one of the family. " The final word rolled smoothly off his tongue like velvet, with the same resonance Antoinetta had. "An ancient law, only recently come to light with your arrival, forbids the murder of the children of a Dark Brother or Sister - without permission. To break such laws is heresy and will invoke the wrath of our Dread Father." He stood, beginning to pace around me. "So, we cannot safely kill you until we are certain he somehow came into possession of the blade without us." A dark grin. "Or until we know he will not _mind_."

"You don't understand what he's done." I shut my eyes, whispering to myself as a coldness crept over me. "He murdered my father. I want him dead. Whatever you ask, I'll pay it."

"No amount of gold could force my hand to break the tenets." His voice hardened, eyes gleaming as the politeness was replaced with a cruel, sharp edge. "Murder isn't so uncommon, Miss Dust. Every night, in shadows across Tamriel man, mer and beast beg the Night Mother to kill. She speaks, and we obey." He laughed in his throat. "_You_ weren't even a proper contract, or else your death would have been sanctified by our dark matron. The snuffing out of your life would have been as simple as a breath, a favor for a friend."

"And if he isn't one of yours, what then?" I snapped, my breath short and harsh. "You would be able to kill him, wouldn't you?"

"In that case, I would simply kill _you_ and be done with this mess." He raised a brow. "Why are the pretty ones always _daft?_"

The backhanded compliment hit me with a slap, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks. _Two can play at that game_. I gave a wicked smirk. "For the same reason handsome Imperials are always lacking _where it counts_."

Lucien snickered. My breath hitched as his gloved hand moved to my throat, tilting my chin and forcing me to meet his hardened gaze. "And shall I cut that wicked tongue out of your pretty little mouth? It shouldn't be much longer, in any case. I already have one of my spies at the Toltette Mansion, watching. We shall know the truth soon enough."

The mansion - I froze. _Maman is there. If they hurt her -_

"Speaker!"

Vicente strode down the hall, catching Lucien's attention. The vampire spoke, presenting an envelope with something not quite like a smile. "Toltette has written us, it seems. I wonder if you will find all this as amusing as I do."

"Amusing? We shall see. Perhaps this will be quicker than I thought." Lucien smirked as he briskly slit the paper open. "Shall I read your death notice to you, _pet?_"

_Why would he write? Would he kill me? He killed papa, after all._ My thoughts cut short as Lucien pulled the letter out, a cool, sweet and _familiar_ smell lingering. My blood turned to ice as a sprig of mint fell at my feet.

_Lucien,_

_If you so much as touch my daughter, I will hang you by your unkempt toes and flay you alive. If you have any respect for the woman who trained you and any love for the dread father, you will guard my daughter as if she were one of your own. Tell Dusty I am coming to get her._

_May Sithis be with you._

_Abelle Maria Dust Toltette._

Silence. Lucien seemed to regret reading the letter aloud, turning to me with a furrowed brow. "So the old witch is your mother. Wonders never cease." In an instant he turned cool again, turning to Vicente. "I trust you recognized the letter, then?"

"Naturally. There is only one Abelle Maria."

...One Abelle. No, there were many. My maman, my mother, and a murderer.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

Wine.

I sat before a glass, tracing my finger around its rim, lost in thought. The smell rose sweet and coy and heartbreaking, because even as I sipped all I could think of was_ her._ And her victims.

My papa. My teacher. My friend.

_Papa and Falrung felled together - it must have been the wine, the wine I poured for them in the brass tankard. Poisoned. Sirius, sweet, silly Sirius murdered because he got too close to the truth._ I swirled the wine, never drinking, only watching it gleam and ripple. _The letter-opener I'd cut my finger on as a child was a weapon, a weapon of an assassin with my mother's face, who knows how many lives she took with it? My own poisons - brewed in the safety of the university, for testing, for research. All I ever saw die was rats, but when they left our hands - how many innocent lives have they ended?_

It made me sick at heart, a sickness I couldn't cure. I grimaced, raising the glass and peering through it, a shiver creeping up my back.

"You'd better drink that, you know. That's Vicente's good wine."

I jerked in surprise, sloshing the wine on the table and cursing. A giggle followed Antoinetta as she sat beside me.

"Oh, he'll be _furious_ if he finds out you spilled some. Anyway, you should have something to eat." She smiled brightly, presenting a basket of bread, still steaming. "I made this, you know. I love to cook. And don't tell Vicente, but there's garlic in it."

"Um. Thanks." Hesitantly I took a piece, wincing as I burned my fingers but grateful for something to eat. I chewed slowly, carefully watching her out of the corner of my eye.

"Good, isn't it? Everyone loves my cooking. Well, except for_ him_." She pointed her delicate chin at the wine, as though it were to blame. "I don't know why he's being so damn nice to you all of a sudden. He said to treat you like one of us."

"...He did." A flick of my fingers and the spill was gone, but the scent lingered. I pushed the glass away. "... I didn't know. I don't know why, either."

"He won't even let _me_ drink his good wine." She pouted, snatching a hunk of bread for herself and sighing. "And I've been here for years. So you must be special. Who are you, again?"

_Special. Daughter of a dead man and a murderer, ex-lover of a necromancer, guest of a band of assassins._ I gave a harsh laugh. "_Nobody_. But you can call me Dust."

"That's a weird name. Suits you, though. Look, if you aren't drinking that, I will." She sipped, then frowned, watching me. "You're an alchemist?"

"Yes."

"Wait." Antoinetta flushed, grinning ear to ear before fumbling with a pouch on her side. "I don't believe it - you made this, didn't you? Dust's J'adore aphrodisiac?" I blanched, pursing my lips as she brandished a rose-coloured vial.

_J'adore._ Bolor must have named it that, before he attacked me - before he left. _Love._ My belly lurched. "...Yes."

She cackled, a bell of a laugh almost to pleasant to be mocking. "You. _You_ made this, of all people. By Sithis!"

I scoffed, half-heartedly praying. _Mara, mother of mercy, get me the out of here._

"I've used it in a _contract,_ even. Poor bastard was still horny when I slit his throat!"

_Mara, if you have any goddamn mercy, you will strike me dead now._

"Could you make some? We have a little alchemy laboratory here, and I could so use another batch. Please? Pretty please?"

_...If I ever get back to a chapel, I'm throwing dead slaughterfish through the windows._

"Antoinetta, that is quite enough."

"Oh, damn it." I clutched my head as she spoke. "_Now_ look, you've got me in trouble. I'm not doing anything wrong, Telaendril, I just want - "

"You have a mess to clean up in the kitchen. Vicente can still smell the garlic." I glanced up to see the Bosmer - Telaendril, usher Antoinetta away, giving an exasperated sigh before turning back to me. "You are Dust, yes?"

Slowly, I nodded.

"My apologies. Vicente explained the situation to me." She gazed at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "Abelle - your mother - will arrive with Lucien very soon."

Mother. I held the word against my teeth, almost able to taste what it had once meant. "...Thank you."

"I suppose I should have known." She smiled almost sweetly, tilting her head and gazing at me with something a little too close to familiarity. "You look like her."

I hoped I gave no sign of disgust. "...So you knew her."

"Vicente, the Speaker and I, we all did. She was very dear to us." She laughed softly. "When she left, we missed her terribly. She was part of the family, after all."

Something boiled in me, seething and _painful._ I hissed, spitting and blinking back sudden, stinging tears. "But she didn't rip_ your _family apart."

The echo of a door, and footsteps. Telaendril glanced beyond, then looked back at me with a twisted frown. "That will be her. Are you going?"

What choice did I have? I stood, slowly making my way to the doors, every step pounding in my head. No thought - there was nothing to _think _of. For once in my life, there was a mystery I could not solve, a tangle I could not unravel.

Maman, a murderer. A paradox that made my head spin.

The door creaked under my weight, and I blinked blearily under the brighter lights of the commons. Some desperate part of me clung to hope. _Don't let it be her. Let it be a mistake. I don't care if I die, let this..._

The world moved slowly, as though made of liquid, rippling. Lucien stood at the entrance, head held high, catching my gaze for an instant before I tore it away. And at his side.

Her hair spun tight in a bun, ink black as it had always been. Eyes bright and lips pursed, jewels hanging from her ears and a hand to her lips. The hands that rocked my to sleep and choked the life out of innocents, the hands that stroked my hair and killed my father. Something clambered up my throat, a single word bitter-sweet and ragged sharp tumbling from my lips.

_"Mum."_


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Author's Note**: This one is for Ethelle! Thank you for all the amazing reviews! =3 *Offers poutine and a bottle of Shein*

* * *

"Dusty."

I stared hard at her, this woman I'd trusted, I'd loved, as she wrung her hands and approached. Slowly, gently, as though toward a frightened animal, or a coiled snake. Bitter bile rose in my throat as she met my gaze, and sickly pang of guilt twisting in my stomach at the glitter of tears in her eyes.

"I came as quickly as I could." She pursed her lips, gaze moving between me and the floor as though she couldn't bear to hold it. I moved suddenly, stepping backwards. She paused, sighing.

"Dust - "

"Why." Cold and tempered like steel, the simplest thing I could say, the simplest thing I could ask without breaking into tears.

"I..." She trailed away, running a hand over her tired face. "I can explain, sweet."

"_Why_," I persisted, holding the word on my tongue and narrowing my eyes, unmoved as she winced. "He loved you, and you killed him. Why? _No._" I clutched my brow, shaking my head and backing away, my voice breaking. "I don't want to know, do I? How many have you killed? Papa, Falrung. Sirius, too? How many others, _Abelle? _"

Lucien stepped to her side, voice cool. "This is foolish."

_"Shut up." _I hissed, feeling a tiny flare of vengeful delight at the flicker of anger in his dark eyes. "I don't know who you are. Either of you," I said pointedly, turning my gaze on her. "And I don't want to."

Maman, mum, Abelle, murderer, shook her head, whispering helplessly. _"Dust."_

"Don't you dare." I snapped at last, my voice trembling, eyes stinging. "Don't you _dare_." I began to back away again, clenching my fists, hanging my head to hide tears. "Stay _away _from me."

And I ran. Like I had from Toltette, from the truth about Bolor, from everything that had ever gone wrong. A problem I couldn't solve, a wound no potion could heal. I knew no other way.

The halls echoed eerily, my shadow cast on the wall. I ran as far as I could from her, until I reached the other end of the Sanctuary and ran inside the last room, slamming the door behind me and collapsing on it with a strangled curse. I gave a shuddering sigh, hating myself for crying, pressing my brow against the cool mahogany of the door for little comfort.

"I take it things did not go well."

I jerked, catching my breath. Vicente. He watched me mildly, arms crossed.

"I didn't. Didn't think anyone was here." I hung my head, turning to the door to leave. "Sorry."

He shifted behind me, his gaze piercing my back. "You are angry with her."

"Why the hell _shouldn't_ I be?" I turned on him, snarling. "She killed my father, the man who taught me magic, a boy too young to _shave_." I gave a bitter, half-hearted laugh. "She gave me her weapon as my _engagement present_. My entire life, she_ lied."_

A pause, his eyes darkened, lips pursed in though. "Sit down, Dust."

I snorted. "Why should I take orders from you?"

His voice hardened. _"Sit."_

I wasn't sure exactly when I did, but I did without question. He moved to his desk, pulling out an old box, shuffling through papers before raising a yellowed envelope. The wax seal was long since broken, the edges bent and wrinkled. Hesitantly I took it from his grasp, shivering as I caught the mingled smell of age and mint.

"So you were the friend." I murmured, tracing the address thoughtlessly as I spoke. "The one she wrote to, in Cyrodiil."

"I suppose I was." A soft smile. "Read it."

With the touch of a scholar used to handling ancient texts I smoothed the letter out, setting aside a withered sprig of mint. It was her voice, her words, that spoke to me.

_Dear Vicente,_

_How I've missed you all at the Sanctuary. I hope you all are well. I write to you now from my new home, the Toltette mansion. It is quite beautiful. I know Davide can give Anya and Gabby a wonderful life here, not like they would have had before. Though it breaks my heart to look at them, now. Anya understands what death is - she has always known, I think. She grieves for her father, but understands he isn't coming back. Her training has been going wonderfully, even for one so young._

_But, little Gabby - Vicente, I cannot feign to think she will follow in her sister's foot steps, or in my own. Not now._

_She seems to believe it is her fault, that her father and Falrung are gone. She wanders about the house, sometimes, calling for them, and has terrible nightmares. Jacques always had her pour the wine, and she seems to think she did it wrong, somehow. It breaks my heart, that she blames herself when it is her mother alone who should carry that burden. Such small things spiraled out of control. _

_You know why I hated Jacques, why I went to Davide. It hurt me terribly that I was not enough for him. That he needed Falrung, to the point where I wasn't wanted. Davide cared for me, even as poor as I was. But, before I knew it, he wanted me for his own, and his request - he asked Sithis to kill my husband. I didn't know, not until I received the contract. And I obeyed. As I always have the orders of Sithis, as I always will._

_I know these wounds will heal, over time. Anya is not quite happy, but she smiles, she laughs, even through her pain. She is strong. And here, in this beautiful place, I have all I need to raise her as a daughter of the Dread Father. But I don't think Gabby will ever be able to do this. She is utterly a creature of life, and laughter, and I would not change this for the world. I found her playing in the kitchen, with a mortar and pestle, and when I asked what she was doing she said she was going to get papa back, heal him like he healed others at the chapel. She is so stubborn, I wonder if she just might do it._

_Ah, I'm rambling. Soon, things will be peaceful and happy, I'm sure. Already, Anya is making friends, and Gabby is staining her knees green, running about the gardens. I must be patient. As you have told me, patience is an assassin's greatest virtue - and perhaps that of a mother, too. Give my warmest regards to the family._

_With all my love, Abelle_

I hadn't realized I'd been crying as I read until a tear stained the page. I blinked them away, closing my eyes and hugging myself tight, as though I might be able to keep these twisting emotions inside. Vicente smiled sadly.

"She loves you."

I sniffled. "... I know."

"Go to her."

I stood, creeping through the corridor as Vicente followed, following the sound of quiet murmurs. Lucien glanced up as I sidled around the corner, his lips pressed in a harsh line.

"Well?"

Mum stood, eyes wide. I swallowed a growing lump in my throat, unable to approach her, unable to leave. I whispered, almost to myself, as I held her gaze.

"I missed you."

She gave a shuddering sigh of relief, moving to me and catching me in her arms in one swift movement. "I've missed you, too, my sweet."

"I want answers." I paused, pulling away from her even as I held her hands tight. "I don't - _why_, maman? I don't understand anything."

"I will explain. I promise." She glanced over my shoulder, bright eyes crinkling as she laughed. "Ah, Vicente. My first time here in a decade, and already I need to ask a favour. Please, put on some tea." I smiled as she cradled my cheek. "I have much to discuss with my daughter."


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

"The Dark Brotherhood found me when I was sixteen."

My tears dried and pain eased, hot tea on my lip. Mum stirred her mug, for which I was grateful. I didn't have to meet her gaze. "I had killed a boy in the Imperial City, for stealing from me. It wasn't difficult. The guards didn't care about the waterfront rabble, and I was never found out. I threw his body in Lake Rumare."

Lake Rumare. How many times did I dip my bare feet in its waters, under a gem-blue sky with a book on my lap?

"A Speaker came to me, shortly afterwards." She gave a small smile, and a shiver clambered down my spine as I saw Vicente return it.

"You?"

"Yes." Vicente folded his hands, gazing at me calmly. "Several years ago, before I retired as Speaker."

"After I finished my initiation, I came to Cheydinhal. I found a home, here. A family. Lucien was like a little brother to me." She laughed gently, sipping. "He met Talaendril, and under Vicente's orders recruited her, too. And so many others, so many who..." She sighed, lashes cast downward. "We were family. It was better than I'd _ever_ imagined. Then, I met Jacques Dust. Your father."

Papa. I felt a lurch of panic at the realization I couldn't remember his face.

"By then, I was next in line for Speaker. But I was young, and foolish. We fell in love." I glanced quickly away as she looked to me, feeling a tug of guilt. "We ran away together, to his homeland, where he lived with his friend. Falrung. I told Vicente I would care for contracts in High Rock." She swirled her cup, the steam rising in spirals. "I had your sister. Three years later, I had you." A sweet smile, a loving gaze I couldn't meet. I looked into my tea, heat rising against my cheeks. "You were such a sweet child. Always curious. Anya was - different. Colder. Kind, and determined, but colder. Like myself as a little girl. I was scared my - my _profession_ would scar you, so I trained Anya instead."

It made sense, in a terrible way. Anya and mum had always worked together, while I was with papa. Even in the mansion, they would go off together - to dinners, I was told. I never joined them. I thought Anya was learning grace and poise, when in truth she was learning how to wield a dagger.

"I - I didn't realize that Jacques was unfaithful to me, not at first. I was so focused on making Anya a daughter of the Night Mother." Mum shook her head, sighing. "It hurt me, when I found out. I trusted Falrung. But more than anything, it made me _angry_. I found someone else. I found Davide."

"Toltette." The name that had once made my blood boil rang hollow in my chest.

"Yes. I began to - see him, in secret. We cared for each other deeply, but I didn't realize... I didn't realize how much he wanted me." I winced at the harshness of her voice, the sound of unshed tears. "He didn't know what I was, but he contacted the Dark Brotherhood. He asked them to kill Falrung and Jacques, and I was selected to do it."

"So you did." I murmured, not daring to look up, not daring to feel.

"I had no choice. I served Sithis, will always serve Sithis, until the day I die and I am returned to his void. And if I had refused, I would have been killed. Perhaps you with me. I thought it wouldn't matter, thought I wouldn't care. Jacques had hurt me, and I knew Davide could care for us. But it was so much harder than I ever could have imagined." She whispered, gazing at something far away. "I tried to keep training Anya, but it wasn't meant to be. I didn't have the heart for it, and she no longer wished to be trained. When Sirius found my old contracts, my letters to the Brotherhood, I - I had to kill him, too. Shortly after, I sent my last letter to the Dark Brotherhood. I was done."

I dug my nails into the flesh of my hand at Sirius' memory, hissing. "Are you _quite_ done?"

I hurt her. She stood, and began to walk away before I fell upon her, locked in her thin arms, my face buried in the crook of her neck. I cried like a child as she stroked my hair, running her fingers through unkempt locks.

"I have made mistakes, my sweet. Terrible mistakes. The Night Mother is still in my heart, though - though I am sure she is displeased with me." She squeezed me tight, my sobs becoming hiccups. "It is a difficult thing, to be both daughter of Sithis and mother of a child. Forgive me."

What else could I do? I loved her, terribly and deeply and painfully. As angry and betrayed as I was, I couldn't hate her, could never hate her. She understood my silence, winding her hand around my neck.

"Thank you, sweet. I know - I know it must be hard, impossible to understand this. But I am more than a murderer, as I am more than a mother, a wife. And I love you." She pursed her lips, plucking the edge of my frayed robe between her fingers. "I'm not leaving, not until I know you're safe and happy. You're starved and filthy." A hoarse laugh. "Your robe is stained and _charred_, for Sithis sake. I won't take no for an answer."

I giggled, sniffling. "...Yes, mum."


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Author's Note: **To all of you reading, reviewing and enjoying, thanks! I'm grateful, and I hope you continue to enjoy.

* * *

Hot steam billowed against my bare shoulders as I let a spell simmer on my fingertips, heating the bathwater. Mum laughed softly behind me, running a hand through my hair with a sweet smile as I shrugged a towel around my body.

"Do you remember the night Gaston was to propose, cherie? How long it's been, since then." She sighed, then frowned, rubbing her fingers together. "There's _blood_ in your hair. What happened, sweet?"

"Um." Gingerly I touched the lump on my head, frowning. "I bit Lucien when he kidnapped me, and he struck me. It's long healed over, just sore."

"That bastard." Mum growled, unceremoniously handing me a vial before giving a wicked grin. "I hope you bit him _hard_. A good man, Lucien, but he can be a bit cocky. Maybe you'll take him down a few pegs. Wash up, darling, and we'll figure out our next move."

"Our next move." I murmured. "I'll leave, won't I? Go back to the University?"

"I... it might be rather more complicated than that." Mum finished lamely. "We'll talk, but not until you're clean. We'll take care of it." I couldn't stop the smile tugging my lips as she gently brushed my cheek. "I'll make sure. _Try_ and relax for a while."

_Relax._ I faced the water, letting my towel slide around my hips and to the floor before hesitantly slipping inside. _I would love to relax. After all this, gods, I'd love to._ I sighed, breathing in a deep lungful of heat and steam before snatching the little bottle, dripping cold, coy syrup into my hand. I frowned at the smell - strawberries and aloe. _That's..._ I smoothed back the label, smiling._ Dusty's Strawberry Bath_, written on old parchment in a child's scribbled hand._ I made that years ago. And mum kept it._

"The past." I mumbled to myself as I sunk in the water, floating blissfully. "No matter what I do, no matter how far I run, the past keeps catching up." I frowned as I scrubbed suds into my hair, watching the water tinge barely red before fading. "I just want to go _home_."

_Wherever home is, now._

"Do you make a habit of talking to yourself, pet?"

I didn't scream so much as _squeak_, wrapping my arms around my chest and staring flushed at a smirking Lucien. I panted, hissing. "You. _Bastard_."

"Now, now. Merely came to _talk_." He arched a brow as I slid as deep into the water as I could, laughing in his throat. "Not that I expected to interrupt a conversation."

I shrunk, suspicion crawling in tendrils around the corners of my mind. "...About what?"

"Your living arrangements." He came closer, smiling as I cursed him inwardly. "I was discussing what I am to do with you with your mother. She was adamant about your safety, of course."

"Of course," I repeated, catching his words and pausing. "What do you mean, _do with me_? As soon as I can arrange it, I'm leaving."

"No. You're not."

_Not - not leaving?_ I shifted, wishing I could stand so I'd at least have some _presence_. "I hope that wasn't a threat. I'm leaving."

"No, you are _not_," he repeated, taking another step that made me flush. His eyes narrowed, dark and piercing. "Abelle I might trust, but you I don't. And you know too much to leave. So I'm keeping you here, until I'm satisfied."

"Until you're_ satisfied?_" I spat, no longer shy - this bastard was trying to keep me_ imprisoned_. I hurriedly grabbed my towel, casting a flicker of a chameleon spell and gritting my teeth at Lucien's wolfish grin. "Satisfied with what? You can't kill me because I'm my mother's daughter, but you can't trust me because I'm not one of_ you_?"

"Precisely." He linked his fingers, raising a brow as my spell faded when I was safely wrapped in my towel. "And if you're staying here, you're going to earn your keep."

I scoffed, running a hand through my wet hair and trying to look as dignified as I could. Pity my head couldn't burst into_ flame_, save me from the mortification of being naked in front of this bastard. His eyes suddenly felt not piercing, but _probing_, a tug at the corner of his lips as he eyed my curves with a quiet snicker. The hairs on my neck rose.

Earn my keep.

_He doesn't mean..._

"I need you to begin making potions, immediately. I have had Vicente make a list of what is needed. You can use the laboratory here, until I decide what to do with you." He met my gaze, frowning in thought. "Something the _matter_, pet?"

"O-of course. Potions. I can do potions." I flushed, my cheeks burning bright as I pulled my towel a little closer to my body. _An idiot. I am an absolute idiot_. I barely composed myself, clearing my throat. "As long as I have the ingredients and tools, I can make it."

"Of course." I seethed at his smirk, the liquid velvet of his voice. "_Relax_, pet. If I wanted you in my bed, you would be there already."

Just a twist of his robes and he was gone, and I stood, naked, dripping and blinking. _Gods dammit._

I groaned, hopping back into the bath. Damned if I was going to let him wreck this, at least. I rippled the lukewarm water, hiding my head in the echoes beneath it, trying to relax.

_Relax._

The last bloody thing on my mind.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

"Things are not what they used to be, Madame Abelle.."

Hushed voices woke me, stirring my mind from the deep, warm darkness of slumber into rousing. I barely opened my eyes, watching the shadows before me, the flicker of a candle - mum sitting at a table, sipping tea, with a hooded man at her side. Lucien, his voice taut and rough.

"I can see that much." Mum spoke softly, as not to wake me. We had been put in the common room together. Through the blueish darkness I could see her bed, still untouched. "Time was a man would take off his hood when speaking to a lady."

Lucien snorted, but I heard the rustle of cloth. He'd removed his hood. "_You_ may not have changed, but much here has. Rumours of treachery fly unchecked through the sanctuaries, brothers and sisters are disappearing. The surface may seem calm, but in its depths, the Brotherhood spirals. Your daughter's appearance came at a poor time."

"Rumours of treachery?" Mum sounded intrigued, her teacup thumping gently on the table. "Does it hold truth?"

"No one wants to say it, but yes. There have been rumours - an assassin among assassins." Lucien laughed softly, bitterly. "I have no doubt I am suspected."

"_What?_" Even in a whisper, maman could convey ferocity. "My Lucien, turning _traitor_? Not the way I trained you."

"I am no longer _your_ Lucien, Abelle." Even amused, Lucien's voice was strained. "Things have changed. Even among our families, there is suspicion and fear. Your daughter may be _your_ family, but as things are, we cannot accept her as our own." The creak of a chair, the rustle of movement. "You know I can't release her until I am certain she can be trusted. Even then, with all she's seen..."

"I trust her. Isn't that enough?" Mum hissed. I could almost hear her hands clench. "If you won't release her, then take her as one of the family." I could feel her eyes on me as she turned towards my bed. "The Brotherhood is in danger, and I think Dusty can help. She has more power than she sees, and I believe Sithis will help her find it."

_...Sithis?_

"You want me to make her a sister?" Lucien murmured, sardonic. "You want me to take this innocent little mage and turn her into a _murderer_?"

"No. Not like that." I tried to keep from shuddering in relief. "But she _can_ aid you. I have heard from my - _friends_ at the mages guild that in her time there she's become an excellent alchemist, and I have no doubt she is a skilled mage."

"I was to receive a murderer from you, Abelle, not an alchemist." A scoff. "Anya would have been infinitely more easy to accept. Will you stay, then? What of her, and your husband?"

Silence. Mum spoke briskly. "Anya is settled with her family - she has three children, Lucien. She won't be a sister anytime soon." A sigh. "And Davide is on business in Skyrim. He won't notice my absence."

"You truly believe...?"

"I do. Swear to me, Lucien. Swear you'll do this for me."

He hesitated. Mum hissed, her feet dragging along the stone floor. "I taught you the essentials of the Dark Brotherhood. I cared for you as a fledgeling. By _Sithis_, Lucien, if you don't do this for me I will haunt you to your dying day."

"...You know, of course, I never get the raw end of a deal."

Mum laughed bitterly. "Clever boy. But you _are_ receiving your reward, Lucien. Dust will prove valuable, I swear to you."

"She had better." Lucien stood. "You will rest, then?"

"Not yet. I wanted to speak with Vicente, first."

Footsteps, light and soft - mum's. I squinted through the darkness, watching Lucien's shadowed form. Shivers crawled down my neck as he approached my bed, gazing at me with a strange smile.

"You were awake."

"Yes." I met his gaze, his face tinted in the shadows.

"Then you know what I expect of you." He left without another word, robe sweeping behind him as he simply melted into the shadows. The clatter of the door and I was alone save my thoughts, weary and dragging.

_Power, revealed by Sithis?_ I squeezed my eyes shut, nuzzling soft fleece. I let my mind wander, and my thoughts became whispers, then dreams.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

_"_Wake up, my pet."

"Grrzzzh." I snored into my pillow, delving into warm fleece to smother Lucien's voice. "G'way."

"Up." My blankets were roughly tugged away, leaving me curled into a ball for warmth, my eyes squeezed tight. "Your mother is waiting for you in the kitchen.

None of this truly made sense to me. All I knew was that I used to be sleeping, and that_ this_ bastard had woken me. "Sod off!"

"Mmm." Magicka tinged his words, buzzing in the air. A blast of pure ice ran through me, jarring me out of slumber. "I will repeat that little spell until you are out of bed. _Up_."

"Fine." I stumbled out of bed, wincing as my toes met old stone. "I'm freezing now, you git."

"I can _see_ that."

It took me a moment to realize what he meant. Then I realized _exactly_ what he meant. I crossed my arms, snatching my robe from the floor and slipping it over my head. _Should've just slept in it. _My cheeks grew hot as he watched me lazily, obviously amused by my little embarrassment. "Quite a lovely underdress. Suits you."

"It's mum's. She loaned it to me." I gave a sweet smile, feigning innocence as he frowned. "WIll you be joining us for breakfast,_ Monsieur _Lachance?"

"I doubt there will be much of one." He swept away, dark robes trailing behind as I kept up. I was becoming used to these halls, the dim light, the constant scent of wax melting and old stone. Mum sat at the table in the kitchen, Talaendril seated at her side. They seemed - friendly. Old, dear friends. Mum grasped the Bosmer's hands, smiling warmly.

"Before you go, Talaendril, I can't tell you how much I've missed this. How much I - " She glanced up, beaming as I met her gaze. "Ah, Dust. Cherie, this is Talaendril."

"We've met." A chill shivered across my skin as she swept past me, pausing before Lucien and giving him a small bow. "Speaker. It is an honor, as always."

Lucien smiled, something strange and almost proud glittering in his eyes. "I trust you received your letter of promotion, Talaendril?"

"Yes, Speaker. Words cannot express my gratitude. I must ask your leave, dear Speaker - my duties call."

"You may leave. Dread Father watch over you."

The Bosmer left without another word. Mum stood, raising a brow at Lucien as he met her gaze. "Ever the leader, eh, Lucien? I must admit, I never thought I'd see the day you'd be addressed as Speaker."

"Doubted me, old woman?"

I scowled. "She trained you, didn't she? Shouldn't she - _outrank_ you, or something?"

Lucien grabbed a pear from the cupboard, tossing it over his shoulder and giving me another of his smirks as I fumbled to catch it. "The Unholy Matron rewards loyalty, and she doesn't hold onto _past glories."_

Mum scoffed. There was something strange in the air, something I couldn't place between them. I shifted uncomfortably as I ate. "You needed me, maman?"

"Yes, of course. I can't have you sitting wearing that robe anymore, it's filthy." She grimaced. "I'm going into town to pick up some things for you. Is there anything else you need?"

"My robe is_ fine,_ I washed it yesterday. And I see no reason why I can't go with you."

"...Lucien will show you the laboratory." Mum ignored my question, pursing her lips. "I should get going."

"Mum - gods _dammit_." I cursed as she swept away, out the door as though she'd never heard me. I turned my gaze on Lucien, glowering. "And if I'm going to be working, I need ingredients."

"We've plenty. I'm a bit of an alchemist myself, you know." A cool smile, feigned politeness. "Not of _your_ caliber, of course. Follow me."

I struggled to match his pace as I scarfed down the rest of the pear, following him to a room tucked away from the rest. Bitter-smelling and musty, dimly lit by flickering candles. A desk, surrounded by jars and bags, with apparatus scattered over it and cauldron pulled to the side. Tools I knew better than my own hands.

"It has been some time since I've used it, though I imagine the family has kept it up to date. Vicente is something of a healer."

I ignored him, approaching the table, not quite happy but - but at least _belonging_. Amongst these murderers, even with my own mother I couldn't quite recapture that feeling, but there - there, I felt it. I examined one of the burlap sacks, filled with rosy apples. I frowned, pointing at it and giving Lucien a glance. "Another of your poisoned ones?"

Lucien shrugged, smirking. "_You_ are the master alchemist, are you not? You tell me."

I plucked an apple from the bag, bringing it close to my lips, dragging my thumb across its skin. No trace of powder, or any type of venom. And it didn't smell of it. I pressed a nail into it, catching the sweet scent I knew. "It's harmless."

A snicker. "And how sure are you of that, my pet?"

I turned to him, frowning, then paused. _A challenge? Fine._ I returned his smirk, taking a hearty bite of the apple and enjoying it with relish, smiling widely. "Oh, I'm _quite_ certain." I caught a glimpse of surprise and grinned in triumph, chuckling. "Doubted me, Lachance?"

A pleased smile, almost satisfied. "There is a list of what needs to be prepared on the table. Enjoy, pet."

I didn't hear him leave, didn't care to. There was no certainty in the walls of the sanctuary, no true, steady comfort. But leaning over a boiling cauldron or pounding ingredients to dust, _that_, at least, felt right. It wasn't home. But it was as close as I was going to get.


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Author's Note: **Thanks for waiting for the new chapter! With school on the horizon things are a bit hectic, but I'm hoping to continue this as quickly as I can. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"It's been three weeks."

My ears perked at the sound of Vicente's voice in the hall, hands slowing on my mortar and pestle as the bitter scent of monkshood rose. For nearly a week I'd worked - not quite happy, but not distraught, caught in a strange limbo as I waited for something I couldn't name. Freedom didn't quite describe what I longed for.

"We cannot allow this to go unchecked, Lucien. Another of our sisters, vanished..."

From beyond the curtain that separated my laboratory from the hall, I heard Lucien's growl. "Marie was an experienced assassin. I doubt she could simply have been killed by her target, or arrested."

"Then you believe these rumours of treachery?"

"It seems I have no choice."

_Marie? Not Antoinetta, I just spoke to her this morning._ I worked silently as I eavesdropped, carefully sliding the ground plant into a calcinator. _Treachery. Even amongst assassins, there are worse villains, it seems._

"And Belisarius, he didn't simply vanish off the face of Tamriel. He was a Speaker, not a common murderer." Vicente again, mild and cool. "No trace of a body, no word from him since Sundas four weeks since..."

"So the Black Hand is maimed." Lucien cursed, and the sound of footsteps followed. "There will be a meeting here tonight. With Belisaurius presumably dead, and his Silencer gone with him, a new Speaker must be named." I frowned at the scowl in his voice. "And I have little doubt as to who it will be."

A wry chuckle. "You should be proud to work with her. Abelle taught you everything you know that I didn't." Even gentlemanly, a smirk crept into Vicente's tone. "And a few things I did teach you, _she_ taught better."

_They're going to make her a Speaker?_ I froze, biting my tongue as the footsteps grew loud. _She might - she might do it. Might stay here, forever. Leading these murderers._ I jerked at the rustle of the curtain behind me, frowning as Lucien met my gaze with a smirk.

"We're having company tonight, pet. I'd like you to help Antoinetta put together something nice."

I grimaced. "I'm an alchemist, not your goddamn personal_ chef."_

"Quite an alchemist indeed." Vicente moved past Lucien. I couldn't resist smiling - despite his gaunt, frightening appearance, I'd grown fond of him quickly. "I must thank you for the potions, Dust. Excellently done."

"Thank you." I smiled, handing him a basket of more I'd prepared before giving Lucien a glower. "You actually expect me to _cook_ for you?"

"I expect you to do as you are _told_." A dark laugh. "While you're at it, Vicente, make sure to set out some of your wine for us. I expect J'ghasta will appreciate it. And inform the family."

"Of course, Speaker." Vicente gave me a small smile. They left together, leaving me with a half-prepared potion and a sour taste in my mouth. Cooking. I sighed, packing my supplies away before searching for Antoinetta.

Evening came far too quickly.

Antoinetta cheerfully tasked me as her apprentice - cutting vegetables, washing plates, monotonous tasks that left far too much time for thought and not near enough for action. But what could I _do_? If it was as Vicente said, if mum was being made Speaker, there was nothing I could do about it. I ached as I worked, gnawing at my lip with Antoinetta watching me carefully. I couldn't help a bitter smile. I would never have a chance to poison the food, if I wanted to - but what purpose would that serve? I would have the entire Dark Brotherhood at my throat. And mum would die from the poison or fight alongside them.

Which, I didn't want to know.

As evening fell, shadows drifted into the sanctuary. One by one, men and mer in robes of void black assembled around a table in Vicente's quarters. Mum joined them. Antoinetta and I worked in silence. I managed to hold back a shudder as I poured the ruby wine into goblets, only daring to meet mum's gaze for an instant.

"Good wine, Vicente, as always." A Khajiit purred, sipping from the goblet I'd filled before gazing at me through heavy-lidded eyes. "And a serving wench? Pretty thing, for a human." I scowled, face prickling hot with embarrassment.

"I'll thank you not to talk about my daughter that way, J'ghasta." Mum murmured, thanking me gently as I finished her own glass and pulled away. I dared a glance around the table, at the faces. Vicente leaned against the wall, not quite part of the circle, but belonging. Lucien and mum - I swallowed a lump in my throat. Three mer I didn't recognize, a Bosmer amongst with his hands intertwined and lips pursed. Sharp, cold eyes, proud and cruel and so much more powerful than his appearance could describe. A Breton - staring at me. I caught his gaze for an instant, a cold thrill prickling my skin before I tore my eyes away.

"You are dismissed." The Bosmer spoke. Antoinetta bowed, face flushed, before garbbing my arm and pulling me outside, shutting the heavy door behind her.

"The Black Hand." She whispered, eyes wide. "The whole Black Hand, except the dead one - what are they _doing_ here?"

"...I don't know."

"Goblin's balls, I don't want to be around here." She shivered, frowning at the split smirk on my face. "What?"

"Goblin's_ balls_?"

"Shh!" She tugged me further down the hall, barely muffling a giggle. "I have to get going. There's a man in Bruma waiting for a stuffed minotaur to fall on his head." A wicked smile that quickly turned cool. "You'd better go somewhere else. You don't want to be caught snooping around here."

"...Okay." I watched as she left, wringing my hands and glancing down the dark hall once more. I could barely catch the whisper of wordless voices.

...Mum.

I crept back down the hall, creeping towards the door. _I want to know what's happening._ I bit my lip, swallowing fear and gently pressing myself against cool wood. _I have to know._

_A small voice protested - what did curiosity kill?_

I didn't listen.

"Too long... no word... dead... named..."

The Bosmer, his voice calm, but powerful. The voice of a ruler. I frowned, pressing myself closer.

"Another... Abelle... suitable..."

"Honor... Listener... accept... humbly..." I shivered, biting my tongue until I tasted blood at the sound of mum's voice. So different, from what I'd known - from the voice that scolded me and sang lullabies.

"Robes... Speaker... welcome... Sithis... ritual..."

_They're going to make her one of them._ Lucien's earlier words rang in my head. T_he Black Hand. Whole again. And she wants to be, she wants... _bitter bile climbed up my throat. I gave a shuddering breath.

"Honored Listener... excuse...return..." Vicente. I listened hard, barely catching the sound of footsteps. I gasped, falling back and managing to crawl out of the way of the door before it creaked agape. Vicente stared at me hard, grabbing my wrist and jerking me upwards as the door again squeaked shut.

"What, let -" I cursed as he dragged me down the hall, tearing my arm away. "Let me _go!_"

"_Enough._" Vicente hissed harshly, eyes flashing bright red as he turned on me. "Any other outsider would _die_ for what you just did. You are fortunate it was I who caught you. If your heart was beating any louder, they would have heard it, too."

I flushed, gritting my teeth. "_Why _are they making her one of them? She - she - "

"She will make her own decisions as she sees fit." Barely controlled anger seethed in his voice. "You are an _outsider_, Dust. It is a blessing - perhaps a curse - you have been tolerated thus far. Do not endanger yourself so foolishly again." His eyes narrowed, scowl softening into a strange smile. "I would have expected better of you, but you _are_ your mother's daughter."

"And I want to know what's happening." I protested even as bitter shame coiled in my belly. "I just - Vicente, I don't want this." My voice grew hoarse. "I just want to know - and I don't know _anything_. I hate being this, this helpless."

"...I know." I shivered as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "But you must be patient. Listening to things not meant for your ears will only get you killed."

I gave a shaky laugh. "Words of wisdom? 'Patience is an assassin's greatest virtue?' "

A fanged grin. "Perhaps."

"Then why do _you_ get to be in there?" I retorted, feigning indignancy. "I thought it was only the - the Black Hand, whatever it's called. Speakers." I paused in thought. "But - you were a Speaker, too."

"I was. And perhaps I will return to that position, in time. When I grow weary of dealing with obstinate underlings." A gentle laugh. I smiled crookedly as he smirked, brushing my chin with a cold finger. "Go."

I turned, wringing my hands. _Underling. Like Antoinetta? But outsider, too. _

Bitter, amused, terrified, mingling emotions brewing inside of me, a concoction I'd never imagine. _And this twisted family making it. _I laughed half-heartedly, a bitter smile on my lips even as I curled up in my bed, mind swimming.

Goblin's _balls._


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

It was seeing her in a Speaker's robes that did it.

I had been hiding away in my alchemy, buried in books an ingredients, trying to press the thought out of my mind. Mum, Speaker. I didn't want to think about it, didn't dare to. But I couldn't avoid her for long.

"Dust, cherie? Are you here?"

"Morning, mum." I turned from my work, holding back a shiver at seeing her in those robes. Strange, that they suited her - gave her an air of power, of grace. I turned, biting my lip and continuing to grind harrada for the sake of keeping my hands busy. "Need something?"

"I - I need to tell you something, sweetheart." Her voice was strong, but held a tremor beneath it. "Have a minute?"

"Of course." I forced a smile and faced her. It was truly _her_ beneath those robes, and that only made it more eerie.

"... I've been named Speaker, as you know. And that means I will be in charge of a Sanctuary."

"Yes." I paused, frowning in confusion. "Here?"

"No." She spoke softly, eyes dark. She'd always had beautiful eyes, dark and rich, so different from papa's and my own. "I'll be going to Kvatch. That was the Sanctuary of the previous Speaker, and now will be mine."

"K-Kvatch?" I gripped the pestle, grinding the herbs with far more force then necessary. "We're going to Kvatch, to stay? Maman, I thought we were staying here until I - I could be trusted. I want to go _home_." I scowled, slamming the mortar on my table. "How long will it be until I _can_? And what about Toltette? He'll miss you."

A small frown. "I know, Dust. But - with what you know, the Dark Brotherhood..." She sighed, closing her eyes. "We can't let you go. Not yet."

I grimaced, feeling like a venomous teenager arguing over lessons with her again. "You don't trust me."

"As a Speaker, I can't. As a mother..." Mum smiled weakly, touching my cheek. I frowned, but didn't push her away. "I trust you with all my heart. Please, Dusty, try and understand."

I stayed silent at that, pursing my lip. "What about Toltette?"

"He - he knows what I am, now." A sad smile. "He made it clear he doesn't want to see me."

I flinched. "He's leaving you?"

"He didn't say that directly. But I think so, yes."

"That bastard asked the Dark Brotherhood to kill papa and Falrung, and leaves _you_ because you're one of them?" I growled, clenching my fists. "Because you - "

_Oh._

_You killed papa with your own hands._

I'd known that, knew it painfully well, but having her in front of me and seeing it in her eyes - that was different. Before it had been cold fact, something I'd never seen, long past, but now...

Mum saw it. She cringed, pulling her touch away. "I - I never said I was sorry properly, Dust. For doing that to you." She raised her hand to her chest, over her heart. "You were so young. I was hoping..."

"Hoping I'd forget." I finished coldly, softening at her wince. "I loved him. You know that."

"I loved him too, Dusty."

"But you loved Sithis more," I half-accused, raising a brow. "You chose."

She pursed her lips. "...Yes."

"And - and you'll always choose Sithis."

Her eyes closed again, slowly, but she spoke without hesitation. "Yes."

I turned from her, shoulders hunched. "When are we leaving?"

"Sundas."

Three days. I sighed, pressing my palms into the cold wood of my table. A warm hand gently touched my shoulder. I winced, and footsteps followed, slowly fading.

..._Sithis. Over the ones she loves, she'll always choose Sithis._ I wanted to know why. Vicente had tolerated my questions so far, but I didn't want to push him. And I didn't want her story, the reasons I already knew - I wanted to know what Sithis was, _why_ it had earned the trust of my mother and all these people.

_A lord of the void, of death_. I frowned, a bitter taste in my mouth. _How could that seduce innocents into becoming murderers?_

I knew one man to ask.

Though I'd been told the Sanctuary wasn't his true home - his lair, I thought with a grimace - he came and left from time to time. I was glad enough to see little of him. Arrogant bastard. I moved silently through the hall, emptied of its tenants gone to their beds or to their victims. I crept to the awning of a small, separate room, uncomfortably close to what had become my laboratory and avoided like the plague. That's the Speaker's room, an Orc had told me, steering me away. He isn't here often, but you don't want to be there when he is. He only gets you in there if yer in trouble. And trouble means blood.

I shuddered, and peered through.

A candle flickered strong on a lone desk, the scratch of a quill and sputter of flame the only sounds. I pursed my lips, daring to edge closer. Lucien pored over his work, his hand moving with flourishes as he wrote. He doesn't look like a murderer, now. He looked rather like a scholar I'd known at the University, a man always absorbed in his work, dead to everything but his books. I smiled at the memory.

"Either come in, or leave. Standing there looking pretty does little for my impression of you."

The memory fled. I scowled, stepping inside and watching him as he finished his work. With a flourish he signed what he was writing, folding it crisply before I could read a word and slipping it into a plain envelope, dripping the crimson melted wax from his candle onto it and sealing it with a stamp. I caught a glimpse of the symbol - a hand.

"Why do you work so late?" The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it, innocent and meaningless. I cursed inwardly.

"Because I prefer the night. And because, usually, there are few distractions." He stood, giving me a smirk. "And you, pet? Why are you pestering me in these dark hours?"

"I… have a question." I watched as he moved across the room, sliding the letter into a cupboard.

"Do you." He murmured, not even bothering to meet my gaze. "I await it with bated breath."

I held back a twitch of another scowl, crossing my arms. "Tell me what Sithis is."

He stood silent, back to me, gazing beyond. I took an involuntary step backward as he turned, a small smile on his lips, eyes dark. "Sithis…" He brought his hands together, gloved fingers intertwined. "Shall I tell you what I tell all the wide-eyed murderers I recruit, then?"

I frowned. "Tell me the truth."

A dark laugh. "One and the same, I assure you. I must confess, I was beginning to wonder when you'd ask." He raised a brow, moving closer.

"… Well. I'm asking now." I pursed my lips, crossing my arms over my chest. He strode by me, pacing in thought as I waited for his answer. He paused, turning to me once again, his gaze moving over me.

"Sithis, my dear, is all that existed before, and all that shall remain after. It is the darkness of peaceful slumber, and the terror and chill of the grave. The Lord of our Dark Matron, and our Dread Father."

"That tells me nothing." I narrowed my eyes, disliking how he circled around me. "What I want to know is how - how innocent people can be seduced by it, be tricked into becoming murderers."

"Tricked?" Lucien gave a dark laugh. "Ah, such naivety. I assure you, pet, not one of our Family was 'tricked' into joining us." He approached me again in one quick step. "We all came willingly - no,_ joyfully_ into our Dark Matron's arms. We all signed out contract, writ in blood, knowing full well what it meant."

I scowled.

He gave a wide smile. "But you don't want to believe that - because of Abelle."

"What was because of me, Lucien?"

We both jerked into attention as mum entered the room, a brow raised. She narrowed her eyes, looking from Lucien to me. Lucien gave a curt bow, almost mocking. "Nothing of importance, dear Sister. I was merely speaking with Dust about our family."

"I see." She frowned. "I do hate to interrupt, but I need to speak with you alone. You should get some rest, cherie." Mum turned her gaze on me, giving a delicate smile.

"…Fine." I pursed my lips, giving Lucien a final glare. "We'll continue this discussion, I trust?"

Lucien smirked. "It would be my pleasure."

I scoffed, and left without glancing back. I'd done enough eavesdropping, as of late. And exhaustion began to gnaw at me. I dragged a hand down my face, sighing wearily as I crawled into my bed. _There's so much I still don't know. Don't understand. And…_

And I finally closed my eyes, letting sleep overtake me.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine

Three days.

The time passed in a fog, drifting slowly, as cool and silver-silent. Working in what had become my laboratory for hours on end, my task often brewing poisons. I didn't dare to wonder who they would be used on. I worked because it kept my hands busy, and my mind occupied. I worked, because; what else could I do? I was a prisoner. Stone walls, the smell of melting wax candles, silence save the conversations between the family and the moments Antoinetta would poke her head through my curtain to see what I was doing.

_"Shit!"_ I jerked, glaring at my hand where steam had scalded me through my worn, ripped gloves. I muttered, standing back from the boiling cauldron and slipping off my gloves.

"Unbecoming language, darling." Mum smirked as she moved past the curtain, raising a brow at what I held. "Surely you have a better pair?"

"Not with me. Lucien didn't give me time to _pack_." I glared at her, then softened at her wince and resigned myself to grumbling. "Seen beggar's socks with less holes than these." I gazed at her for a moment, the realization of days passed settling in. "…We're leaving tonight, aren't we." Not a question - there was no point in questioning it.

"Well…" Maman approached, presenting a small, brown package wrapped in twine. "We'll discuss it. But first, open this. I was just in time, it seems."

"Just in time for what?" I frowned, ripping open the paper, sighing. "Oh, mum, you didn't need to…"

Gloves. Beautiful leather gloves, with etchings of spirals and alchemic symbols, thick, but flexible, and strong.

Mum smiled. "Don't fuss, just put them on."

Carefully I put one on, and slipped my hand into the other. I frowned as something jingled, the palm of my hand finding something cold and hard inside the glove. "There's something inside it." With a furrowed brow I pulled it out, blinking at a small key. "What is this?"

Mum grinned. "It's a key. Used for locks."

I rolled my eyes, but giggled. "I mean what is it _for_."

"A lovely little house here in Cheydinhal. Not far from the chapel." She smirked at my look of surprise. "It's about time you had a place of your own, isn't it?"

"But… mum." I stared at the key, squeezing it in my ungloved hand, imprinting the metal on my flesh. "What about Kvatch? Why…?"

"I can't force you to come with me, cherie." She came close, putting a cool hand on my cheek. "I want you to be happy. To be free. There's only so much I can do, with all you know about the Brotherhood, but at least you won't have to live down here. You could stay here, run a shop, start a family. You'll be - under supervision, to some degree, but you'll have your freedom."

I could only blink, gaping.

"I can't let you leave Cheydinhal, not yet, but this is better then nothing, isn't it?" She smiled sweetly, then laughed. "Speak - you look like a gasping fish."

I stared at her, opening and closing my mouth, with no sound coming out. I couldn't_ think_. I couldn't have my old life back, but this, maybe this was something - yet the words 'under supervision' echoed in my mind, sending slow shivers down my spine. Finally I jerked into motion, moving to capture her in a tight hug, mumbling against her. "Thank you."

"…You've got nothing to thank me for. Consider it my way of paying my debts as a mother."

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her she owed me nothing, but I couldn't lie about what had been stolen. So I only gazed at her quietly, lost in thought. Mum parted her lips, but never spoke.

"You will excuse me for interrupting this heartfelt family moment, I hope." M'raaj Dar scowled at me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He turned his gaze on mum and gave a gracious bow. "This one is to tell you that our Honored Listener wishes to speak with you, Speaker. Then, your daughter."

I froze.

Mum nodded calmly at M'raaj Dar. "I will go immediately. Thank you, brother." She turned to me, raising a brow, a quiet smile on her lips, and whispered, "Mind the lace. Someone will come for you when the Listener is ready." She pecked me on the cheek before leaving. I gazed at her, confused, and echoed her words.

"Mind the lace…"

I gave something between a laugh and a croak. Mind the lace. She had said that in the mansion, so she could tell me to mind my manners and behave without embarrassing us. _'You shouldn't have to be told, but I suppose this is better than nothing'_. So when a particularly important guest came along, or when I was toeing the line, she could say…

I began to clean up my laboratory, smiling as a billow of steam that crept out from my cauldron only turned to beads of water on my gloves.

_Mind the lace._


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Author's Note: **Thank you all so much for your patience! :D I hope you continue to enjoy. Happy belated New Year!

* * *

He sat before me, hands folded, eyes sharp and slitted. Pale-haired, dark-eyed, clad in noble greenery with a gleaming bow on his back. I dared, for a moment, to meet his gaze. He arched a thin brow, lips pursed, and I glanced away. A Bosmer, hardly taller than me, yet his presence was menacing. No, not quite menacing - not fearsome. Coldly regal. He didn't need to be fearsome to be respected.

I forced myself to speak. "Honoured Listener - "

"Listener." He interrupted, eyes fixed on me, head raised ever so slightly. "What does that mean to you, Gabriel Dust?"

I pursed my lips tight. _Dust, goddammit, just Dust_. "… I don't know."

"Do not feign to use words you do not understand. You are not one of us."

I hung my head, stiffening. "… I'm sorry, sir."

He remained silent, looking at me thoughtfully. "You are aware that your mother, Abelle, will be leaving for Kvatch shortly to serve me as Speaker."

"Yes."

"As for you…" The Mer gave a mirthless smile. "I have yet to decide your fate."

My fate. I shuddered.

"Abelle has told me of her plans for you. Perhaps they would be acceptable." He stood, pacing back and forth as he spoke. "But then again, she will serve me regardless of what I decide to do with you. And you know more than many of us are comfortable with."

"I wouldn't betray my mother's family, sir." I plead my case humbly as I could.

"No? I do not know that." That smile again, cold and eerie. He pulled a dagger from its sheath on his belt, examining it coolly. "I understand you are a talented alchemist."

"…Yes, sir."

"The Dark Brotherhood is not simply a collective of assassins." The blade glinted, shivering candlelight reaching from the candelabra above us. "We need many talents to operate, as any business does. Healers, spies, connections across Tamriel." A quiet laugh. "Including alchemists, Miss Dust."

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.

"Will you serve the Dark Brotherhood, serve Sithis and his bride?" He moved close, his blade moving smoothly to rest on my shoulder.

It was a miracle that my voice remained steady, a miracle I didn't flinch away from the blade. "I don't want to murder anyone, sir."

"That would not be your duty. At least, not yet." He moved again, shadow flickering on cold stone. "Your work would be rather more subtle. You would create poisons and potions for us, and operate as our healer to the extent of your ability. Your position is not entirely unique, Dust. As I said, we have need of many talents. You would not be quite family, but you would be of use to us nonetheless."

I kept myself from scowling - _of use_. "I have little other choice, sir. It's either that, or I'll be killed." My throat grew dry as I became painfully aware of his blade before he pulled it away, sheathing it with a smile.

"I am glad we understand each other. You will receive your orders for potions from the family here. You may live in the house your mother has found for you, although you are not to leave Cheydinhal, and you will be under supervision, naturally. Whatever else you choose to do with your life, I care not. Simply obey the tenets, serve faithfully, and you will be - relatively free." His eyes slanted. "It is a great mercy I am granting you, Miss Dust. Were it not for your mother, you would be long dead and rotting."

"I know that." I corrected myself quickly. "Sir."

"Good. You are dismissed." He jerked his chin towards the door. "Abelle will be leaving shortly. I suggest you say your goodbyes."

I stood, giving a hasty bow, the corridor a blur. Maman stood in the commons, a chest by her feet, clad in black and speaking softly with Lucien. Both looked up at my approach, Lucien raising a brow before walking away and mum giving a sweet smile. "How did it go, cherie?"

"Well, I'm not dead." I sighed, moving in to hug her tight. "He - the Listener - he agreed with what you wanted. I'll stay here." I squeezed, shaking my head as her hand ran down my back.

"I know it's not what you want, but it's better than - better than what you would suffer otherwise. Try and be happy, Dusty." She laughed. "This is the second time I've asked you to do this. To be happy. To make the best of it." She smiled, regret lingering in her words.

I nodded. "I can do that."

Her lips parted, and for a moment I thought she was going to speak. To say something poignant, something sweet and motherly, something that would soothe the sting of this goodbye. But the words never came. She only smiled and kissed my brow, giving my hand a squeeze. She left without another word, and I stood there, gazing at where she had stood.

Ungolim's words echoed in mind, making my stomach churn. _It is a great mercy I am granting you_. Hadn't I heard similar before? From Traven, before he had been named Arch Mage. _Showing you a great kindness…_

I scowled, stalking out of the common room and towards the kitchen, tripping over the resident rat and cursing as I caught the table for balance. B_loody sick of everyone's 'kindness.'_ I couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness and guilt that clung to me. Bitter because I hadn't wanted this, I didn't ask for it, and I was fairly certain I didn't deserve it. Guilty for feeling bitter, when I should have been grateful simply to be alive.

I sat at the table, cupping my head in my hands and letting myself go limp. Footsteps. I didn't bother looking up to see who they belonged to.

"Hey. Your mother left?" Antoinetta. I heard her move around me to grab something from a nearby cupboard, setting it on the table before me with a thump. "Here. You look like you could use this." I looked through my hands, blinking. A rather large bottle of mead, the label peeling. Antoinetta grinned and pulled up a chair, placing an arm around my shoulders as she sat. "Well?"

I gazed at the bottle, lips pursed, before giving a weak chuckle. A drink sounded like the best damned thing I could ask for.


	31. Chapter Thirty One

It's amazing how quickly a drink can become a pint, and a pint half a bottle. Likely more than half. Antoinetta was generous - she seemed to sense my frustration and always shoved the bottle back to me after a quick sip. Hours passed. It could have been afternoon or midnight - I could no longer tell the difference in the sanctuary, and with sweet honey on my lips and a lovely floaty feeling starting to bubble up inside me, I no longer cared.

Antoinetta grinned. "You're drunk."

"_You're_ drunk," I accused, frowning as I weighed the bottle in hand. "This is empty. When did it get empty?"

"When you drank it all." She shifted, crossing her legs and giving a triumphant smirk as I glared.

"You helped."

"Hardly at all!" She pouted, little red lips pressing before she burst into giggles, eyes shining. "What's your worst fear?"

I blinked, trying to keep up as my head swam. "What?"

"That's what you're supposed to share when you're drunk!" She chuckled, biting her lip and giving me a squeeze. "Mine is being buried alive. I once had to do that to a man for a contract, and the sounds he made!" She shuddered, then continued to giggle. "Well? Woss yours?"

I frowned, shaking the bottle as though expecting that to miraculously fill it anew. "Swear you won't tell anyone?" Antoinetta became grim, nodding solemnly. I persisted, scowling further and crossing my arms. "Cross your heart, hope to die?"

"Stick a dagger in my eye." She gave a deep bow of her head, hand over her heart. I nodded, satisfied, before flushing.

"It's, um. It's falling. You know, from towers, or buildings or - or trees…"

"So you're scared of heights?" She grinned, getting up to move to the cupboard. I scowled.

"I am _not _scared of heights. I am scared of the splat at the end of them, which is a perfectly _reasonable_ thing to be scared of, thank you."

"Oh, of course." She couldn't seem to keep from giggling, covering her mouth with one hand. "Perfectly reasonable. What makes you scared of them?"

I bit my lip, examining the label on the bottle and trying to figure out precisely why it seemed to be written in Dwemeri. "Ah? Oh." I hiccuped, nose twitching. "When I was small - well, not really small, nearly a teenager - when I got mad I used to climb up a tree that stood over the lake of our manor's grounds." I nodded to myself in memory, oblivious as Antoinetta stood to grab another bottle. "Threw fireballs at the lake. Helped me calm down, you know, seeing the flames bounce off the water…"

"And?" Antoinetta cracked open a bottle, offering it to me and giggling as I tried to snatch it and missed entirely. "Here." She pressed the bottle into my hand, cold glass in my palm. I took another neat swallow, trying to keep the bottle from jumping out of my hands and onto my robes.

"And one night, I climbed especially high. Didn't want anyone to find me." I scowled. "Well, it _worked_. No one found me until morning, dangling upside-down from the branches with my dress and hair all tangled in the leaves." I shuddered at the memory, the lovely bubbly feeling popping. "Dangling like that all night, the ground so far away, having to get rescued by a specially hired mage since we didn't have a tall enough ladder…"

"Fascinating. Simply _fascinating_."

I jerked, cursing as I spilled mead onto my robes and scowling over my shoulder. Lucien prowled, moving behind me as Antoinetta bowed her head.

"G-good evening, Speaker." She stood to give a clumsy bow. "How may I serve?"

Lucien glanced between us, at the bottle I held and smirked. "If you are quite done chatting, I would like to have a word with Dust." He turned his gaze on me, wry and amused. "If you are capable of coherent speech…"

I glared, swallowing a hiccup. "I'm fine." I glanced up as Antoinetta scurried away, frowning. "She's scared of you. Why is she _scared_ of you?"

A snicker. "You're not?"

"Not in the least." I crossed my arms as he took Antoinetta's seat, trying to pat dry the lap of my robe with my sleeve. "You're an overstuffed, self-important smug Imperial pig. Also…" I frowned, gnawing my lip as I tried to remember precisely what made this man so undesirable. "…You're a murderer. Right, that."

He chuckled. "And?"

"And…" I took a sip from the bottle, giving a little hiccup and scowling at myself, searching for reasons why I disliked him. _He's not unpleasant looking. The eyes, that little bit of muzzle. No, no, that's no good._ I smirked triumphantly as I spoke. "And you look terrible in black. _Terrible_. Washes you right out."

"I see." He folded his hands calmly. I frowned, confused. He should have been reeling from that wit. "You are aware, of course, that I am escorting you to your new home tomorrow - ah, this morning?"

"This morning?" I blinked. "But I haven't slept… haven't even…"

"Which is why I suggest you rest while you can." He stood, still giving that little smirk before shrugging. "Or not. Simply don't expect my pity when I am forced to drag you out of bed in a few hours."

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?" I sipped, grimacing at the memory of his frost spell. "No spells this time."

"I promise nothing." He frowned, raising a brow. "I heard your little talk with Antoinetta. Afraid of heights?"

"The splat at the end. The_ splat_. And you owe me a new pair of robes." I narrowed my eyes, giving what I hoped was a menacing gaze as I tried to mop up the mead. He shook his head, laughing darkly.

"I'll tell you what, pet." He put a hand on my shoulder, a shiver creeping down my back. "I'll buy you a new set of robes, if you'll do me a little favour."

"Oh." I shifted uncomfortably as the cold liquid seeped through my robes. "Okay. Wait, what favour?"

A satisfied smile, a cat's whiskered smirk. "I haven't decided yet. I will in due time, my dear." His hand pulled away, the little shiver moving from my shoulders down my spine. "Once again, I suggest you get to bed. And do leave some alcohol for the rest of us, won't you?"

I stared after him as he left, trying to burn a hole into the back of his skull. Bastard. I staggered to my feet, frowning at the bottle and carefully putting what remained on the table, rubbing my brow as I made my way to bed. I was going to regret this, undoubtedly. When I was sober enough to realize my own stupidity, to curse agreeing to owe him a favour.

I scowled, slipping out of my cold robes and into bed, staring at the ceiling. _Better be a damn nice set of robes._


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the slow update! I'm searching for a beta to help me keep on schedule and get things done. And I want to say, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. I have a tendency to mix up which ones I've responded to and which I haven't, but I'll say here that every one is adored and appreciated. When I'm sitting in front of a blank screen, unable to write for fear of screwing it up, coming back here to read what you guys have said helps me break through. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

* * *

"I will not resist the temptation to say_ I told you so_."

I scowled, biting into an apple and rubbing sleep from my eyes as Lucien strummed his fingers on the table, waiting for me to finish my breakfast. My head ached, throbbing dully at each sound, at each movement. Thank the gods for remedies. I took another swallow of the foul potion I'd concocted, grimacing and praying it would work before I was forced into sunlight.

"Quite finished?" Lucien raised a brow as I stood, smirking at my growl.

"Quite, except my robes stink of mead and I've nothing to change into - " I blinked as he presented a small package.

"Taken care of, pet." He threw the package across the table, watching me as I tore it open.

"What's this for?" I frowned in confusion as I pulled a set of robes from the package, carefully running my hand over the cool material. Dark green, soft and well-made. Like the Apprentice robes I'd first been given in the University. I raised a brow, suspicious.

"I suppose I can't expect you to remember. Let's just say you owe me a favour." He smirked before turning businesslike. "Go. I'll be waiting by the door."

"Fi - " He left before I could speak. I sighed, changing quickly. _Fine._ Something whispered in the back of my mind, a niggling feeling of doubt and suspicion, but I pushed it aside. Whatever this favour I owed him was, it could wait. The halls were silent as I approached the ominous black door -_ everyone's out on contract, I suppose_. I scowled, glancing around, seeing Lucien nowhere, before gazing at the engravings on the door.

A woman. Dressed in strange clothes, holding a frail child in the crook of one arm, advancing upon four others at her feet. It glowed an eerie, ethereal red. I frowned. Similar, in ways, to the Nordic carving Falrung did when I was small - jagged lines, deep, imposing etchings. And yet so very different. Very gently I brushed a finger over the line's of the woman's dress, shivering.

"Beautiful. Is it not?"

I turned, narrowing my eyes at Lucien. "…In an odd way, yes."

"Perhaps, someday, I'll explain what it means to you."

"Wonderful." I rolled my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as another swell of aching arose. "Can we go now?"

"Impatient, are we? Very well. Follow me." He moved past and opened the door, the red glow momentarily shadowing upon his face before he made his way down the dark hall beyond. I hesitated, but followed, trying to keep pace.

"What time is it?"

"Early. I would prefer to do this without too much attention."

"Fair enough." I glanced him over, biting my lip. He wore civilian clothes, now, instead of black robes. Dark pants, a crisp shirt, his hair tied in a knot. He could fit in, could easily just be another man at the market. I scowled, sticking my hands in the pockets of the robe. _Which I suppose makes him all the more deadly._

I squinted under the glare of the early morning sun as we exited, shielding my eyes behind my hand. The air was cool and crisp, the grass still wet with dew. As the sun blindness faded, I watched my surroundings, slowing my pace. Cheydinhal. A pretty town - the whitewashed buildings with dark planks, the cobblestone paths, the rambling brooks and idyllic bridges over them. The chapel spires were silhouetted against the sky as we crossed a bridge, our footsteps thumping in unison on the wood.

"There." Lucien stopped, gaze fixed ahead. "Hrm. Abelle chose well enough. Pity it's near the chapel."

I followed his eye, and couldn't help giving a little gasp. It was beautiful. In truth it was little different from the other homes, but the creeping vines over the ivory wall, the planks of mahogany gleaming in the sun, the iron-wrought grate - it was beautiful and it was _mine._

"Well?" Lucien raised a brow. I grinned and dashed forward as he scoffed. With an unceremonious delve into my purse and click of a lock I set foot in my home for the first time.

I was greeted by the familiar smell of a smoky hearth and spice, feet padding softly on the dark floor. Tangled strings of herbs hung on the mantle above the fireplace, white linen curtains blown by a gentle breeze through a parted window. Dim sunlight that streamed in made patches on the furniture, shadowing on the soft rug pinned beneath a cushioned chair. Slowly, I beamed. "It's perfect…"

"It's quaint." The Imperial frowned, a line of contempt rising between his mouth and cheek before he scoffed. "This is what you want, pet? A pretty little house with a copper kettle, a husband and children? And here I'd hoped perhaps you might be_ interesting_."

I scowled. "You don't know a damn thing about what I want."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

"I've no intention of doing that." I narrowed my eyes, arms crossing. "Get out of my house." _Gods, it feels good to say that. My house, and to him_. I couldn't resist giving a little smug smile at his frown.

"So soon? As you wish." He strode easily across the room towards me. "But, there's something you should know." I drew back slightly as he leaned close, voice lowered to an ominous whisper. "You are free of the Sanctuary, but not of us. We are watching, pet." I stiffened when his hand settled on my arm, refusing to jerk away. "Every guard in this city serves the Count, and the Count is bridled by us. Should you try to run off to the nearest_ knight in shining armour _you will find yourself sorely disappointed." He tilted his head, and smiled. "And should any little secrets manage to reach unwanted ears, it is not only you but your _mother_ who will suffer the consequences. Am I understood?"

I grimaced, breathing a little sigh when he stepped away. "…Crystal."

"Good." His dark eyes crinkled with his smirk. "_Do_ try not to disappoint, poppet."

I glared after the door when it closed behind him._ Do try not to dirty my doorstep again, you utter…_

"Bah." I turned away and let myself relax, smiling. "Gods, this is beautiful." And all mine. _Better than a dresser and bed in the basement of the University._ I winced at a sudden pang of memory and guilt. _Tar-Meena must think I'm dead. I could write - but what would I tell her? Hello, sorry I can't come back, my mother's a murderer and I'm a sort-of hostage of the Dark Brotherhood? _

I shook my head, gnawing my lip as I ascended the stairs. Is this what I want? My fingers crept on the balustrade and came back covered in a grey film. I gave a small smile.

_Whatever_ I wanted, there was much to do.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three

**Author's Note: **Hello again, and my sincere thanks for reviews! :D I have a question for my trusted readers - how would you all feel about sexual scenes? Nothing X-rated, of course, and I'd move the rating up to M. I did have similar in my previous version, so I'm wondering if similar should be done here. And of course I'd love to hear any other thoughts you've got. Thanks very much, and I hope you enjoy!

PS: No sex in the next chapter, if you're wondering, whether I get the okay for it or not. Not quite yet. ;)

* * *

"The shelves need dusting, Dusty!" A croak of pleased laughter, a tickle along my neck. "Get to work, apprentice, or I'll keep you after class." I giggle and shrug my shoulders to try and escape the tickle.

"I'm not saying after class again, they'll get suspi - "

… Suspicious. How very suspicious this was. This peace, this frivolity. A hand on my shoulder, shaking, a quiet voice.

"Get up. Get up, now."

I jerked into motion immediately, sweeping my legs off the bed and grasping for a weapon, for something, _anything_. A pair of hands grabbed my wrists and stilled them, a hiss in my ear. "Calm yourself. I am with the Brotherhood, and you are needed, now."

"Why? What's happened?" I stood, wincing at the feel of the cold floor on my toes before meeting the face of the one who woke me. An Argonian, scales almost black in the darkness beneath a leather cowl. I couldn't see his expression, and his voice gave no hint of emotion.

"No time. Simply read this, and obey."

"What I…?" I rubbed the grit from my eyes, trying to peer at the parchment in the darkness, fumbling to bring a light spell in hand.

_Dust,_

_Your skills are needed. Bring hartshorn salts to the sanctuary and tend to Gogron with utmost haste. Vicente will await you there._

_Lucien_

Hartshorn - smelling salts. "…Alright. I think I have some." I strode through the dark with only the eerie green glow of my spell to cast light, followed by the Argonian. I still felt like I was dreaming, walking through the recesses of my mind instead of in the waking world. I moved downstairs, squatting by an old chest I'd stocked with my healing supplies. _Smelling salts…_

I lifted out a little bottle and sniffed, nose wrinkling at the sudden sharpness of powerful perfume despite it being locked away. I was awake, entirely awake now, and with a cough I turned back to the Argonian. "The sanctuary?" He gave a brisk nod and turned wordlessly. I followed, stopping by the door to slip my bare feet into boots and to grab my cloak.

_Not free of them._ I shifted, cradling the bottle of salts between my hands as I walked on. The last few days had been peaceful, enough to lure me into complacency, the belief I might have a normal life. B_ut I can't. I'm not free of them, they can come in my house and drag me out of bed whenever they want…_

Into the sanctuary, to the living quarters where beds sat circled. I frowned as we entered, dark shapes before us around a bed. The Argonian strode before me.

"We arrive, Executioner, and I have brought the alchemist."

"Good. Thank you, Teinaava, you are dismissed." Vicente sat on a stool beside the bed, face gaunt. His red eyes focused on me and he gave a quiet nod of approval, beckoning me to approach as the Argonian left behind me.

An Orc. I frowned deeper, brow furrowed, before grimacing. Gogron - the loud, boisterous one who'd warned me about Lucien. He lay on the bed, eyes closed, breathing shallowly, covered in a light sheen of sweat. He had already been bandaged, but they had bled through, the tracings of blood from a deep gash surfacing through linen.

"I did what I could, but I was only able to stem the bleeding. The wound was too deep for me to close. If you are able, please, heal - "

Brisk footsteps. Vicente paused and glanced past me, eyes narrowed slightly. "Ah. Good evening, Lucien."

"Don't bother with healing, just awaken him," Lucien snapped as he strode forward, giving me only a glance before glaring at Vicente. "We need information. I want to know who is behind this."

"At the risk of shock killing him? Further healing would lessen the damage, and - "

"And we would be forced to wait for him to awaken _naturally_." Lucien hissed, tilting his head. "I do not have the time for that, Executioner."

I shifted uncomfortably, caught between them, and glanced at Gogron. He remained deathly still, skin turned a sickly, sallow shade. Poison on the weapon, perhaps. The tension hovering in the room was suffocating, and only grew heavier as Vicente calmly spoke.

"No, I believe it is not time you lack, Speaker. It is patience." He inclined his head, and turned his gaze to me. "Very well. Awaken him. You brought the salts?"

I nodded, apprehensive, before glaring at Lucien. "I thought you were family. You don't give a damn if he lives or dies."

He stiffened, voice dangerously quiet. "The needs of the many come before the needs of one. Wake him."

"There is water and cloth." Vicente nodded beside him and handed me a small bowl filled with cold water, a cloth hanging inside it. Wordlessly I took it from him, placing it carefully on the bedside and staring at the bottle. A lump welled in my throat, the strong scent making my eyes sting. _If I wake him, I might kill him._

I took a deep inhale between my teeth, and uncorked the bottle. Just a handful of salt on the wet cloth and the fumes were released, staggeringly sharp and cold. I coughed and gazed at the Orc, silent and still.

_I'm sorry._

I placed the cloth over his mouth and nostrils, the fumes stinging my eyes and throat. I held it there carefully, ready to pull it away at the first sign of life. And I waited.

Still as the grave. I heard a quiet curse behind me.

"Ghrraak." I jerked and pulled the salts away, catching my breath as the Orc suddenly hacked. His eyes opened abruptly, mouth gaping as he took a shuddering breath and coughed. I winced and put the salts aside, placing both hands on his chest and readying a slow healing spell.

"Easy. Shhh." I bit my lip, echoing words I'd heard another healer say long ago. "You're safe."

Lucien strode forward, moving past me to look sharply down at the Orc. "Who did this to you? What happened?"

The Orc squinted up at the Speaker, breathing harsh. I kept my hands on his chest, pressing down slightly to keep him from rising and aggravating his wounds. He coughed again and gave a grunt of pain before speaking, voice strained. "Was up the hill. Near Fort Farrugut." He hacked again, the sound painful, and a bit of dark liquid spat onto the sheets. "Dark. Didn't see… black robes. Shortsword." He grunted again, eyes half-lidded. "Didn't see 'em… coming… Speaker…" He breathed heavily, eyes focusing once again on Lucien. "_Why_…?"

My skin crawled, the room falling silent once more. Vicente turned his eyes on Lucien, expressionless, and I did the same. He only stiffened further, eyes narrowed, and mum's words echoed in my head. _My Lucien, turning traitor?_ The blood drained from my face. "You did this?"

"No." His voice was harsh, eyes sharply focused on Gogron, who had collapsed into unconsciousness once again. He didn't defend himself further, didn't speak - simply fixed his gaze.

Vicente spoke, ever calm and poised. "Then we know it was another Speaker. But the evidence is against you, Lucien."

"Why would I come here, then, if I did this myself? Why would I _want _to awaken him?" He scowled. "I will inform our Listener of what has taken place here. Good night." He turned briskly and left in a flurry of dark robes and anger. The silence was deafening, suffocating - I tried to bring myself to speak, to say something, but my tongue went thick and stupid against my teeth, and no words came.

"Kk-ghrk-ghrk."

"What was that?" I glanced back at Gogron after croaking, alarmed. A bit of spittle dripped down his cheek, and he had suddenly gone very, very still. I gave a shuddering breath at Vicente's quiet reply.

"A death rattle."

"…Oh." I felt a sudden sting in my eyes and blinked tears away, hugging myself tight. "…I'm sorry."

Vicente frowned. "For what? You did as you were commanded." He raised a brow and stood, gesturing for me to do the same. "Talaendril will want to see him. Come with me."

I followed, lost in thought. Just like that. A life, gone, snuffed out like a candle. I wrapped my arms tight around myself again and squeezed as we walked down the halls. Talaendril passed without a word, eyes blank, steps brisk. Like she were simply embarking on another mission instead of going to see her dead brother. A strange thought surfaced as Vicente lead out through the ladder in the well, into the night once again._ Is that what mum looked like, when she poisoned the wine? Calm and quiet, emotionless? _The thought shattered as a cold drop of rain hit me and dripped down my face.

"Hm." Vicente gazed up at the sky, pale skin grey in the shadows. "…Fitting."

"Yeah," I croaked before sticking my hands in the pockets of my robe, shivering. "… Vicente, do you believe. Do you really think Lucien would…?"

He turned his gaze back on me. "I do not know. It is possible." He shook his head. "…I would be a fool not to believe it possible. Yet I feel his dedication to Sithis is as deep as my own."

I frowned and nodded, looking up at the sky once more and blinking away the rain. "…We were talking about that. Sithis. Why people - trust it." And we never finished the discussion. I wanted to then, desperately, even if I couldn't place why. Lucien's face flickered in my mind, and I gnawed my lip.

"And did you find your answer?" I shook my head, as he did in turn. "I am not surprised. It is a road you must venture for yourself, if you will."

I nodded, brow furrowing. "Gogron said - Fort Farrugut. The fort up on the hill. What's there?"

A dry laugh. "Lucien's lair. When he first became Speaker, I aided him in clearing it out. Something of a gift of congratulations." Vicente's eyes tilted, looking thoughtful. "Are you certain you wish to see him, now? I doubt he will welcome visitors, his motives are still at question, and his lair is riddled with traps…"

I stiffened, feeling my face flush. "How did you know I wanted to…? Can vampires read minds? Could you please_ warn _me first?"

Vicente chuckled, rubbing his chin with something only barely too polite to be a smirk. "No, we cannot read minds. I've simply picked up a few tricks over the years and you, Dust, are an open book." His smile faded, and he inclined his head. "Why do you trust him?"

"Trust _him_?" I echoed, then snorted. "I'd sooner trust a rabid hound."

"And yet you would approach him after this, to speak with him…?"

I gaped for a moment, then frowned and crossed my arms, ever stubborn. "Well, I trust my mother. And she trusts you, and you trust him, don't you?"

"Trust." Vicente's eyes glowed softly, a pale red in the dark, and I shivered. "I trust no one but the Sithis and his bride, Dust. I have faith in Lucien, but it is not unfaltering. Your idea of trust is quite refreshing." He shook his head once more with a soft sigh. "I must return to the Sanctuary. We will need to tend to the corpse. I leave you to make what decision you will." He gave a small bow and moved past me, descending the well again.

I bit my lip, tasting the rainwater and gazing skyward again. Dull and grey. _Dammit all._ I scowled and trudged through the mud, digging my hands deep into my robes. I couldn't read books, couldn't go out and research like I once had. I could only ask, and trust the answers I received.

Under the cloak of the rain, I made my way to Fort Farrugut.


	34. Chapter Thirty Four

The rain showed no mercy as I made my way up the hill, sodding my cloak until it clung to me like a second skin, my boots squelching in the puddles and mud. I dragged my feet onwards, shivering. _Should have learned those rain shields. Something practical, something useful, but no, I had to take classes in destruction -_

I slowed my step. The fort towered over me, ominous in the dark. A circular wall, crumbling into piles of rubble at the foot of it, surrounded the fort itself. Ceilings of stone that seemed to be barely supported by ancient pillars stood overhead. Rain pitter-pattered on stone in an almost comforting rhythm.

_Riddled with traps…_

I took a deep breath and kept close to the circular wall, making my way around it into the centre of the fort before stopping dead, frowning in the mud. Footprints - boots, scuffed deep in the mud. And hoofprints. Heavy ones that sunk deep, far larger than any horse I'd seen before. I followed the trail with my gaze, my frown deepening. A makeshift stable, and…

Oh. _Wow._

Behind planks of wood and sheltered by one of the stone ceilings above stood a horse, a beast of a horse. Pure black with crimson eyes, a smooth and well-kept mane and coat. Beautifully fearsome. She gazed at me with intelligent eyes and snorted, pawing at the ground and tossing her head. I dared step closer, and wrinkled my nose at an all to familiar scent. Blood. It became clear as I neared that she was injured - there was a gash along her side that slid under her belly.

Memories. Sirius letting me watch as one of the mares gave birth, as the foal took its first wobbly steps. Healing the black eye he'd gotten from trying to set the broken ankle of a fierce stallion. Riding for the first time. One of the few things I enjoyed about the mansion, that I was never really alone for the horses grazing in the fields. I stepped closer and whispered. "Would you let me help?"

_She must be Lucien's horse_. I frowned as she simply stared, then raised her head and moved her gaze away. She wasn't aggressive, at least. I made my way around the stable and carefully set a foot inside. _She could crush me into a pile of splintered bone, if she wanted._ I shuddered, and felt a chill race through me as she directed her stare again.

_Quiet voice, filly, or ye'll scare 'em. Nice and calm and real gentle-like._ I whispered words of comfort and approached, raising an apprehensive hand that hovered before, at last, I lay it on her flank. I allowed my magic to move, glowing from my fingertips into her fur, through flesh and muscle, knitting it as one. The wound wasn't deep, at least. She would hardly scar. She jerked suddenly and whinnied, and I turned on my feet.

Lucien approached. Hood pulled low, only a small frown visible, a bundle of bandages and a small jar beneath his arm. "…You healed her."

"Yes." My voice was timid in the dark. "It wasn't much. She'll be fine." He swept past me and I frowned, turning to watch as he ran his gloved hands down her sides. "I told you, she'll be fine. Don't you trust - " _… Don't you trust me?_ I blinked, and let my words trail away.

He turned when he was satisfied, eyeing me, then nodded. "Come inside."

I followed him, confused as he lead not to the great doors of the fortress, but back into the woods where the trees tangled in the dark. I followed his footsteps , pausing as he did by a great redwood, following him around and blinking in astonishment as he simply stepped inside it. It was hollowed, a trapdoor in the bottom. He raised a sardonic brow, and smirked. "You'll excuse my lack of a welcome mat, I trust."

His usual wit. I frowned and descended after him, pausing and grimacing from the ladder as he landed on his feet. He glanced up, smirk widening as I dangled. "Need help?"

I scowled. "I'm fine, thanks." And the drop was - short. I cursed inwardly, inching further downward. _This is nothing, I wouldn't even break my ankle if I fell_. Still, my body stiffened. I made a sound of disgust, then gasped as I felt hands reach up to support under my arms, and tightened my grip on the ladder.

"You're about two feet from the ground." I could almost hear the cynicism dripping from his words. "There are Altmer who stand at this height regularly. Let go."

I scowled, but slowly released the ladder, squeezing my eyes shut until I felt my feet land safely on solid ground. Well, not so much land as simply _step._ I swore under my breath. _Scaredy cat. One fall from a tree and you can't even climb down ladders proper. _At least the one in the sanitary was short.I turned as Lucien strode behind me, and gazed around the room.

Cold stone walls, high and powerful, a simple and sparsely decorated room. A tapestry, depicting the same hand I'd seen on the door of the sanctuary, a small bed and dresser shoved into a corner. A desk, cluttered with quills, papers held down by a skull, crates and barrels of ingredients. A jar of ectoplasm glowed eerily.

"Wine?" I tilted my head at the sound of Lucien's voice, and nodded. Something to warm me up sounded wonderful. I shivered, still soaked to the bone, noticing a small puddle that had formed beneath my boots before he caught my attention again, gesturing for me to sit in one of the chairs pulled by the far wall. "Come, then."

I sat, catching his eye over the goblet he handed to me. He smiled almost politely, and sat, sipping his own wine. "Whatever brought you here at this time of night, pet?"

I shook my head and drained some of the goblet before speaking, sighing in relief as the warmth it brought. "We never finished our discussion earlier. What happened to your horse?"

Lucien's face change, flickering to anger for a moment before becoming calm again. "Someone was trying to steal her, I suppose. She must have attacked them, and they struck back and ran. Pity there was no trail of blood to follow. I would have very much liked to find them. I looked for footsteps, but the rain had washed any signs away."

I sipped slower this time, my shivering slowing. "…Do you think it was the traitor?" A cool laugh. I frowned in puzzlement. "What?"

"I was under the impression you thought _I_ was the traitor, my dear." He sat back easily in his seat, smirk lopsided, eyes dark. "Is that not so?"

_Why do you trust him?_ I hid my thoughts behind the goblet. "I don't trust you, you're a conniving self-obsessed bastard." I pursed my lips and met his gaze. "… I just don't think you're a traitor."

"I am so very pleased to have your approval." Lucien laughed darkly, drinking. "You might want to slow down on the wine, pet. As I recall, you don't handle your alcohol well."

I scoffed and took a long, slow sip, thinking. _He's so calm. _I remembered his face over Gogron's body, the cold fire in his eyes. _Now he hides it so well_. I grimaced and shook my head, remembering my reason for coming. "I came here because I want to know more."

"Ah, yes. Your mother interrupted our earlier conversation." He took a thoughtful sip, swirling the goblet. "And what would you have me tell you?"

"I don't know. I just want to learn more." I bit my lip, struggling for words. "Isn't there - some way I can research properly? There must be books, legends, something - "

"There are. But they will be useless to you until you experience it for yourself." He tilted his head, hood falling back around his neck and shoulders. "Like alchemy, is it not? One could read endless ancient tomes about the methods, but never truly understand what it is to extract the very essences of a substance and make it ones own."

… _That's an eloquent way of putting it._ In spite of myself I nodded, rather wishing I'd thought the same first. But… "But I don't want to - experience Sithis. I don't want to kill anyone."

"Do you believe that is all it means? Death and destruction, pain and suffering?" That smile again, pressed between tight lips. "That is certainly a part, but not all. People would not take such faith in a belief that gives them only pain. No, Dust, we find _pleasure_ through that pain. The Night Mother loves her children, and she shows us the way." The smile faded as he nodded grimly. "And should we serve well, when we die, we may rest by Sithis' side in the void, in utter darkness, in the very seed of creation itself. All there was and will be."

I absorbed this as the wine moved through me, warming me. "…You have a way with words."

He smirked before muffling his chuckle behind a sip. "Is that enough to convince you to sign the contract, I wonder? To join the Brotherhood under oath written in blood?" I shook my head, and he laughed in his throat. "I thought not. But you are not quite as hopeless as I'd once thought. I must thank you for healing Shadowmere."

I rolled my eyes and snorted. "It was nothing, really. Trudging through the pouring rain and mud risking life and limb with a traitor on the loose was _more _than worth the pleasure of your company."

"I should certainly think so. I'll take my payment for the wine." At my stunned look, he barked a laugh. "Then, I suppose I can let it go this once. For you, pet, no other." He stood, nodding. "I have work to attend to. And while those robes so nicely flatter your curves at the moment, you should change before you catch your death."

"Ech." I stood and followed him back to the ladder, my skin prickling despite trying to hide my sudden self consciousness. I took a deep breath and reached up to grasp the ladder, cursing my height. "You really ought to think of your more vertically challenged guests getting in and out…"

"I suppose I must." He stepped to my aid again before pausing and raising a brow. "How anticlimactic. Not even a goodnight kiss?"

"A goodni - " I sputtered and glowered at the glint in his eyes, then matched his smirk. My cheeks flushed hot as I laughed, a bit of liquid courage enough to let me peck him on the cheek. "Goodnight."

_"Hah."_ Before I could move again he'd grasped my hair and captured my lips, leaving me stunned. My senses swam at the sudden attack - his scent, the feel of his grizzled chin and smooth lips, his hand in my hair and the rush of blood through my body. He pulled away after a moment, giving an all to satisfied smile. "Goodnight."

I don't quite remember when I left, only finding myself back in the night, under the slowing rain. Blinking, with one coherent thought.

_Well. At least I'm not cold._


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Author's Note:** Hello! Again, sorry for the late update - I hope it's worth it. With summer so tantalizingly close, I'm hoping on getting a lot more done. Just another week! Thank you all so much for your patience and support!

* * *

I hadn't seen him since the kiss.

I wasn't worried, really. I had so many other things to keep me occupied - herbs to grind, liquids to boil, customers to tend to. A thousand little things seemed to fill my day until I collapsed exhausted in bed, tired but content. Not quite happy, not quite sad, but somewhere in-between. For the past week I'd been going through the motions, since there seemed to be so little else I could do. If I was idle, memories came. Saying goodbye to maman, seeing her in those dreaded black robes. The Orc's pale face, and shallow breathing. And the kiss.

I swore, putting a little more force than necessary into grinding nightshade. The smell rose sickly sweet and I sniffed, backing away and sighing. Of all things, _that_ was what dominated my thoughts. Each time I imagined it, a familiar warmth bloomed in my belly, a shiver clambered up my back. I'd find myself thinking of those late nights with Bolor that seemed so long ago before trying to delve into my work again. I perused the list of potions and poisons Vicente had requested for the umpteenth time, tracing the letters idly. It was both disturbing and pleasing that I'd mastered the poisons he suggested.

_Ground nightshade, steamed, the venom extracted…_

Someone battered at the door.

I jerked around with a gasp, cursing as my mortar fell to the floor, leaving powdery residue along the stone. _Who at this time…? Not them again_, I prayed inwardly. _Not another death_. I dashed up the stairs from my basement. The knocking seemed to be growing weaker. I frowned and pulled the door open, eyes going wide as someone nearly collapsed onto me.

"Mum!" I gasped as I caught her, supporting her weight and trying to help her stand on her feet as she groaned. "Are you - "

"Stabbed. Bleeding to death. All over your nice rug," she added mournfully, dark eyes downcast. I followed her gaze and stiffened at the sight of a trail of blood, oozing off the end of her dress. She was shaking, and yet a weak smile curved her pale lip.

"Who the _hell_…" I hissed, half-carrying, half-dragging her inside. White-hot venom rose in me as I lay her face-down, gently as I could, and saw the stain of crimson on her white blouse.

"No time for that, darling, now. Just - _fix it_," she breathed, her cheek pressed against the floor. I winced and snatched my cloak from its hook, folding it and sliding it beneath her head. "Please."

"Yes." I nodded stiffly and knelt by her side, placing a hand on either side of her back. "I think - I think I can. I'll heal it and bandage it…" I closed my eyes and concentrated, exhaling slowly as magicka slipped from my fingers into her flesh, knitting muscle and sinew.

"Mm. Just like your father." Mum murmured. I bit my lip at sight of her face, pale and drawn, and brushed dark bangs from her eyes. "I need to go, sweet, as soon as you're done with me, or the traitor may follow…"

A knock on the door, gentler this time. We froze in unison, and met each other's gaze.

"He might break in." Mum's eyes were wide, lips parted. I moved my gaze down the blood trail along her back.

"Then I'd best welcome him." Something possessed me. Something bitter and hateful, protective and loving all at once. I wouldn't let maman be hurt again. I would _slaughter_ whoever hurt her - I knelt and took her dagger before approaching the door, limbs taut, pulse racing, and pulled it open.

Lucien met my gaze.

"You," I spat. "_You_, I swear by all gods, if _you_ did this I'll -"

"I had nothing to do with this. I brought her here, until she realized she _forgot _something," Lucien snapped and stepped past me, eyes blazing. He knelt by Abelle, raising a brow and presenting what he held - a bloodied scarf. Mum sighed, looking exhausted.

"Like _hell_," I breathed. I trusted him, had trusted him, but with my mother at risk… "Get away from her, _get out of my house_!"

"Dusty, stop." Mum groaned, getting on her hands and knees. She took the hand Lucien offered and stood, wincing. "It wasn't him, sweet."

"Do you know that?" I glared at her sharply, then at him, barely stopping myself from looking away at his furious gaze. "What the hell happened, then?"

"I don't remember very well. I was going to Fort Farrugut, and I came to with Lucien carrying me." I moved my gaze down his body, gritting my teeth at the even darker spots of blood on his black robes. "I asked him to get my scarf, to clean up blood, evidence - if the guards saw something and suspected…"

"What I suspect is that he didn't just find you - that's a bit too much of a_ coincidence _after Gogron," I hissed. It was too much, to see her wounded, I needed someone to blame, someone…

"What I remember the last time we met, _pet,_ was you saying yourself you didn't think me a traitor," Lucien barked, taking an ominous step towards me. "By Sithis, I've been loyal since before you were born and I will _not_ have you question - "

"That is _enough_!" We both jerked, surprised by the sudden power in mum's voice. She eyed us both, holding the counter for support. "We won't get anywhere tearing out each other's throats. That's exactly what the traitor wants."

"She's right." Lucien made a sound of agreement before gazing at Abelle. "Why were you coming to the fort?"

"To warn you." Mum closed her eyes. I watched as she seemed to go limp and taut all at once, as though she had no strength left and yet she was pulled tight, like a puppet. "You have officially been declared a traitor. We are to capture or kill you on sight."

Silence. The room seemed to grow colder, as though a frost spell hovered in the air. Abelle gazed at Lucien sadly, his expression turned blank.

"Will you kill me then, Abelle? You are welcome to try."

"No, boy." He wrinkled his nose at the name, and she laughed weakly. "Firstly, I doubt I would survive the attempt, having taught you everything I know. Secondly, I don't believe you're the traitor."

"Then what?" I spoke, trying to keep my voice calm but a hint of fear creeping in. "What do we do?"

They exchanged glances. Lucien raised a brow, jaw set. "You are providing succour for a traitor. The Brotherhood will not allow it."

"But I won't allow them to kill my prize student." Mum smiled almost fondly, and I felt a flicker of - of jealousy? I didn't know how to place it, didn't dare, and dismissed the thought. "I will go with you. I will defend you. Your Silencer is seeking evidence of your innocence, correct?"

"Yes, has been for months. The trail grows stronger, he hopes he is close…" Lucien drifted off, dragging a gloved hand over his brow and hair. "I must find a safe harbour until my innocence is proven, until the real traitor can be found. There's a small farm North of Bruma, that has been abandoned for some time after the contract there was completed…"

"Then we have our destination, don't we?" Mum stood upright, slightly crouched - _the wound must still hurt her, even healed. It scarred._ I bit my lip as she came close, touching my cheek. "Sweetheart, be safe. No one but the Cheydinhal sanctuary and the Listener know of you, and they will never know we were here…"

"What?" I drew back. _She wants…?_ "You think I'm staying? I'm coming _with_ you!" The words spilled before I could stop them, and in truth I wouldn't have taken back if I could have. I was not going to let my mother die. _Family_, I thought as I gave a shuddering breath. "But this might be a trap, mum." I glared at Lucien. "Leading us off to some remote little farm…"

"I trust him. You'll just have to trust me. We have no time to waste." Mum gazed at me, suddenly cool and official. She looked at Lucien and smiled as he gave a small bow.

"I value your trust, Madame Abelle - Sister. Well?" He glanced at me, scowling. "Are you coming?"

I had no choice. Even if it would lead to both our deaths. I nodded dumbly.

"Then prepare yourself. We leave at once. We will meet you by the stables. If you are not there, we go alone." Lucien's voice was like ice even as his eyes burned. They left, leaving me in the dark, with one purpose.

Prepare.

Supplies. I stuffed my bag with herbs, bandages, rations of food as quickly as I could. And my dagger. I whirled around, moving behind the counter and snatching it from a shelf there where I kept it, attaching it to my belt. _My dagger. The dagger that got me into all of this… _

I fingered the cool metal before jerking myself from thought. Slipping on my boots, lacing my old, thick cloak, stepping out into the night. The streets were dead silent, clean of any trace of blood. Lucien had experience, after all, cleaning up such messes. I cursed, and walked a little faster to the stables.

Lucien stood by his mare, saddling her and stroking her side as she whinnied softly. Mum readied a little milky filly, pulling herself on and glancing at me, nodding her approval. Lucien looked up as well and scowled. "You're with me, on Shadowmere. I doubt that little beast Abelle calls a horse could handle you both."

"Fine." I grit my teeth and slipped my foot in a stirrup, cursing my height. A quiet laugh, so strange in all of this, sounded from mum as Lucien grabbed my waist and hoisted me up so I could sit before mounting as well, taking the reins with either of his arms encircling me. I shivered, not from the cold but from warmth - his warmth, being so close to him again…

"Let's go." Mum nodded at us and urged her horse onward, moving swiftly ahead of us into the darkness. I shivered still, giving a gasp as Lucien's horse abruptly took off and the world suddenly began to bleed past. We caught up to mum, and I snuck a glance, hoping my healing had done enough. Whatever pain she felt, she didn't show it - her expression was one of utter concentration, only her lips moving. Speaking - praying.

I almost wanted to join her. To plead to some great entity, to beg for mercy, for our lives and safety…

But I didn't know who to pray to.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Author's Note: **Again, thank you all so much for the support! I've posted several chapters on my Deviant Art, as well. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy! :D

Days passed. Though Bruma wasn't far, it was far enough, and the days seemed to only grow longer as the chill of Cheydinhal became bitterly cold mountain winds as we moved further North. Keep moving - that was our mantra, what little we said to each other when we spoke. We must keep moving. We stopped only to relieve ourselves and hide our tracks, a task becoming more difficult in the pristine powder that coated the trails. We slept in shifts - one of us would steer Shadowmere as the other slept, and the final followed on mum's horse. Lucien only grudgingly rested, and only for short periods - at even the snap of a twig underfoot his eyes would flash open, his hand would fly to his sword. Mum slept soundly, for longer than either of us could - I worried my lip, glancing at her slumped against Lucien. The wound had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

Despite the bitter cold, the constant fear, there was a certain intimacy to it all. To sleep in the arms of someone you hardly know - or perhaps worse, know all too well. To trust them with your life. Knowing we had only each other as we travelled through the mountains towards what Lucien had called 'Applewatch.'

I braced myself, gripping the reins of mum's filly with numb hands as the wind bit at my cheeks. I rode alone, then - mum was resting once again, and Lucien moved Shadowmere solemnly along. The storm swirling around us pushed us ever forward, ever faster, and yet I felt as though we only moved in dizzying circles. I pressed the horse onward, gazing at mum once again before jerking at a sudden flash of silver - Lucien, drawing his sword.

"What is it?" I could barely hear my own voice above the cry of the storm, but Lucien looked up, grim. As he parted his lips, I received my answer. A long, almost mournful howl echoed.

"Wolves." He grimaced, voice low and harsh. "Be on guard."

"…Oh." He hadn't heard - had already turned and was pressing forward. I stroked the filly, more for my own comfort than hers, following the trail Shadowmere had left. _It won't last long in this storm, anyway._ The wind had created dunes, leaving some areas bare rock, some swept with high, arched curves of deep snow, sweeping our trail away. But Lucien seemed to know his way. _Why do you trust him? _Vicente's question echoed, and I sighed, shivering._ I don't have much choice, now._ I shuddered, moving my gaze from the reins to the snow as we walked. Poor creature. I lay my hand on her neck, feeling her tenseness, and frowned as she gave a high whicker. "What's wrong?"

Another howl - close. Too close. Before my hand could fly to my dagger and as Lucien looked back, she bolted, shrieking. Suddenly the world flew by and I couldn't keep up, numb fingers desperately grappling for the reins, trying to shout over the storm. "Stop - _stop_!" I tried to pull back, cringing as she bucked and almost threw me off, as I heard mum's frantic voice call to me.

And as I heard barking. Growls.

It happened very quickly. Hearing the patter and scrape of the hungry beasts behind, forced forward into the blistering winds and blinding snow, gripping the reins so tightly it seemed my hands had frozen onto them. The pounding of Shadowmere, coming after us. I gasped for breath, filling my lungs with gusts of chill air that crept into my very marrow. Chased, yet no clue where to go.

_Run, run, run, stop, run - _

_Crrrrrkkk._

A sharp, screaming sound, like thousands of glasses shattering. Following us, it seemed, below us, and suddenly there was no more_ below _us, only blackness and bitter cold, dragging me. I could do nothing but sink as the frigid waters seeped through my cloak, my skin, as the shock stole my breath away.

_Air. Need air. Water breathing._

Desperate sounds - the wails of the horse, the snapping of the wolves and whimpers as one scrambled above me to try and get back on the ice. The filly - in front of me, trying to get up, hooves thrashing. A spell on my lips, until the steel and bone of her foot hit me. In blackness flashed spots of white, until they were consumed.

I heard my name, felt something grip me. Then felt nothing at all.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Author's Note: **Again, thank you all for your patience and support! :D I can't tell you how much it means to me. Special thanks to DetectiveTective for all the lovely reviews and the comment on Deviantart!

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I awoke to warmth, and pain. Coursing from my skull along my jaw, tingling down my spine to the tips of my toes in a dull ache. Familiar scents - smoke, tea, burnt bread. The sensations were muddled, and I tried to make sense of them as I wrenched open my fever glued eyes.

_Where…? _I squinted, blurred shapes sharpening. Wood - logs, a ceiling. A blazing fire at my side. Heavy, warm wool and fur layered over my body. I groaned, testing out my voice, wondering for a moment if it had really been me making that inhuman sound.

"Dusty?" The scrape of a chair and a face came into view, eyes dark, face drawn with worry. "Darling, can you hear me?"

I nodded weakly, parting my lips, unable to force more than a croak from my throat. Mum sighed and dragged a hand over her face. "Thank the Night Mother." I watched dumbly as she poured a mug of tea, pressing it into my hand. "Here, drink. Are you hungry?"

Hungry. Another ache joined the others, a low grumble in my belly. I nodded again before sipping, finally able to speak with my throat wetted. "What h-happened?"

"The wolves." Mum glanced at me, pursing her lips before busying herself behind me, returning with a hunk of bread. "Careful, it's hot. You were chased by wolves, and from what we saw you were chased onto a lake. The ice must have been too thin to hold the weight…"

"Oh - ouch!" I cursed, shrinking slightly at mum's raised brow before blowing on the bread to cool it off, fingers still smarting. "Sorry."

"I've heard far worse from you." Mum smiled softly, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she watched me hungrily devour the bread. "Not too quickly, or you'll make yourself ill."

I slowed down, despite the ache of protest from my stomach. I'd never felt so hungry, and never before had burnt bread tasted so good. I sucked a crumb off my finger before sipping again, remembering. Travelling - to Applewatch, to hide. Being chased, the bitter cold and blackness. I shivered, moving my gaze to the mug. "How long was I out?"

"About a day. You woke up before, but you didn't seem to recognize Lucien or I." She sighed, laying the back of her cool hand on my brow. "Good. The fever's gone down, too. I think that's enough for now." Mum took the mug and what little I hadn't devoured of the bread. "You should rest, sweet. We made it." Another of those small, sad smiles. "We're safe here, for a time."

"Okay." I hadn't realized how tense I'd been until I relaxed, sinking into the bed, feeling the heavy warmth of the blankets settle on me. I turned my head, frowning. Applewatch. Quaint, warm, a simple cottage. A table nearby, with the bread and a kettle, two empty chairs, one occupied. Lucien - sleeping, it seemed. He sat slumped, a hand on his cheek, the other dangling just above his sword. Mum followed my gaze, then smiled, warmth at last in her eyes.

"He hasn't left that spot since I arrived." A gentle laugh, creases deepening around her eyes and curved lips. "Ever vigilant, I suppose. He rode ahead with you, on Shadowmere, while I covered our tracks until he came back. You were already by the fire and in bed. And I suspect the burnt bread was his doing." Mum chuckled. "Try not to tease him about that."

"He…" I blinked, her words sinking in. "…So he was the one who got me out of the water?"

"And got you here, yes, and I owe him everything for that." Mum approached again, brushing a curl of hair from my face, smile falling. "… If I'd lost you…"

_Lucien saved my life. _I tried to understand this, to imagine it. I remembered - hearing my name, strong arms pulling me, but after that, nothing. I shook my head, searching for something else to bring up. "What happened to your horse?"

"Ah. Poor thing." Mum bit her lip. "She got out of the ice and ran, the wolves after her. I suspect - I suspect she's long dead now."

I winced. "I'm sorry, maman."

"Don't be. You're safe, and we made it. That's all that matters." I closed my eyes as mum kissed my forehead and pressed a fresh mug in my hands again. "I'm going to check on Shadowmere, see that she's warm enough. Drink a bit more, then rest."

I listened, only opening my eyes once again when I heard the sound of the door creaking shut. The room was still, then, the only sounds the rustle of blankets and the rise and fall of his breath as he slept. I gazed at him under a furrowed brow. It seemed to strange, to see him like that. At rest, not quite at peace but limp and silent in slumber. I felt as though I was witnessing something terribly intimate, terribly raw. I shook my head, struggling to keep myself sitting upright as I sipped. _He's only a man_, I reminded myself. _A man, who'd saved my life._

_Why?_

I groaned at a throb of pain in my skull, a wave of dizziness making my body go weak, the mug seem to jump out of my hands. I swore as it fell to the floor with a crash. "Dammit!" Just as quickly as the mug broke, Lucien was upright, sword half-drawn, looking ready to pounce. I shrunk back, voice meek. "…Sorry."

"Hah. You're forgiven, pet." Lucien snorted, sheathing his sword casually and striding over to the bedside. I shivered as the bed creaked beneath his weight when he sat on the edge, gazing at me. "Where's Abelle?"

"She's with Shadowmere. Making sure the stable's warm." Beneath the idle conversation something lingered, something deeper. I took a breath, stroking my hands down the fur of the blanket. "…Thank you."

A wolfish grin. "For saving your life, or for my forgiveness? Do tell."

I scowled half-heartedly, almost pouting as he pulled off his hood. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" A grin was my only answer, and I shook my head, murmuring. "Of course not." I couldn't quite move my gaze from his face - though pale, his jaw dark with muzzle and eyes dark from exhaustion, the smirk remained. He raised a brow, tilting his head in question.

"Just…" I tried to think of something to say before trailing off, moving my gaze as my cheeks burned. "You burnt the bread."

"And you broke a mug, pet. With any luck, we'll have this place destroyed before Abelle returns." I couldn't quite stop a giggle at the ridiculousness of it. Joking, even now, and somehow what normally would have made me only roll my eyes almost made me double over. I caught my breath, gazing up at him as both brows raised.

"I just - it's funny. And laughing - helps." I felt stupid, my words childish and meaningless. He only nodded, and I searched for a distraction, my gaze settling on a rip on the arm of his robe. "What happened?"

"What?" A sudden frown and Lucien grunted, shifting the rip away. "Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." The healer in me perked in curiosity. I pursed my lips, taking his arm. "Let me see."

"It's nothing," he repeated, but let me look with a withering glare. I only glanced back before examining the wound - a bite, an attempt to take the flesh of his arm that had almost succeeded. The tooth marks sank deep, tendons ripped. I winced, giving a sound of sympathy that only made him scowl.

"This needs to be healed. Let me…"

"I was under the impression you are an alchemist, not a healer." Lucien scowled, then grunted. "Fine. Do it quickly, then. It's your own bloody fault if you faint from the exertion."

"I'm not that delicate," I retorted, ignoring the ache of my body that said otherwise. I traced around the wound, eyes half-closed, the words of a spell moving coolly and sweetly from my throat. My body and magicka panged in protest, but I continued, watching as his wound began to heal - muscle knitting, tendon sewing, flesh waving as one again until all that was left was a painful scar. Not quite healed, but close. I closed my eyes for a moment, weak and empty, a wave of dizziness moving through me before I could speak. "Is that better?"

Critically Lucien watched, flexing his arm as though to test my work. "…It's good enough." He frowned as I lay back, closing my eyes. "Go to sleep. Abelle will have your hide for exerting yourself." A snort. "And no doubt she'll try to take mine." I nodded, already feeling myself sink into a soothing, warm darkness. "And, pet?"

I gave a contented sound. "Mm?"

A snicker. I could imagine his face, smirking, eyes gleaming in satisfaction. As I fell to sleep, his words rang clear.

"You're_ welcome."_


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight

**Author's Note: **Thank you all again for waiting, for reading and for reviewing! C: Special thanks to 'LovingYouIsAllINeed' for inspiring review - this chapter's for you!

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Peace.

After the chill of our days on horseback and the feverish heat when I arrived, the days of content warmth and peace were more than welcome. Still, we took shifts - the two of us awake would eat, keep watch, talk or sit in a comfortable silence. Sometimes it would be the three of us - Lucien was restless, stalking back and forth and checking on Shadowmere far more than necessary. This was one of those times - as mum was settling for her break but unable to sleep, laying in bed while I perched at her side and we read together.

_"They say Dark Elven women are pro- pro- something. Prostitutes?" she said, although she was dubious." _I read The Real Barenziah aloud - we'd found a copy beneath an old bookshelf, as though it was meant to be hidden out of sight by its owner. Mum laughed, giving a crinkled smile as I grinned at her and Lucien lounged at the table.

"Ahh, this old book. Vicente lent me a copy when I first came to the sanctuary - a copy from Daggerfall, no less." Mum sighed at the memory, gazing at the book in my lap. "You know, sometimes I swear you have a bit of Dunmer blood. The way you flirted with all those poor servant boys…" Lucien snorted as I flushed red, as mum gave a catlike smirk. "Oh, it's_ true_. Shameless thing. Except, of course, when she was busy reading, or dabbling with some new potion idea, or fighting with her sister…" Mum tapped her chin in thought. "What was it Anya said you were? Part Argonian?"

"Argonian?" Lucien raised a disbelieving brow, sticking his spoon into a bowl of cold stew.

Mum only smirked. "Why, Lucien, haven't you seen her _feet?"_

"You - " I sputtered, instinctively drawing my feet closer to my body as I felt my cheeks blaze. Mum cackled, feigning a snatch at my leg.

"She has webbed toes! It's only really noticeable up close, however…" Mum gave a throaty laugh at my glower, tapping my cheek. "Come now, cherie, you know I only tease." She gave an indignant gasp as I playfully smacked her hand away. "By the Night Mother, I'd never have thought my own daughter would treat me so poorly." She raised a brow before sighing, sinking into the bed. "And now you've worn this old woman out. Shame on you."

"Shame, shame." I shook my head and stood, closing the book, unable to hold back a reluctant chuckle. "I'll let you sleep, mum."

"Mm. And I'm going to check on Shadowmere." Lucien stood behind us, already making his way to the door. I frowned.

"Again? That's the fourth time today. You're - " I scoffed as he let the door fall heavily shut behind him. "Hmph."

"Follow him." Mum smiled up at me. "He just needs something to keep his mind off things, and I think he'd appreciate the company, even if he'd never admit it." She chuckled. "Not to mention I need my beauty sleep."

"Beauty _hibernation_, you old she-bear." I grinned, running to the door and only barely dodging a pillow aimed at my head before stepping out into the drifts of snow. Our tracks were painfully apparent now around the cottage - it had been a few days since it had snowed. The air was crisp and sweet. I took a breath and walked in the footstep's Lucien had made, following them into the stable and opening the door, poking my head inside. "Lucien?" A gruff hem was my only reply. I stepped into the mildew warmth of the stable, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.

"What did you need." Lucien stood by Shadowmere, gently stroking down her flank as she ate from a bag of hay. I shrugged, making my way to a pile of straw and flopping onto it lazily. The stable was small, but cozy - fit for two horses, with supplies. Apparently the previous tenant had been ready for a harsh winter. I gazed at the ceiling, blinking as a cold droplet hit me - snow, melting through the cracks of a trapdoor meant to open in the spring for sunlight.

"Mum kicked me out." It was - familiar. This strange warmth, the smell, the gentle whuff of breath from Shadowmere. A vague flicker of memory - being perched in a hayloft, barefoot, dress covered in straw. I shook the memory away, watching Lucien as he groomed the mare. His movements were jerking, repetitive, as though every muscle in hid body was coiled tight. "…You're tense."

He snorted. "And I suppose I have no reason to be?"

"…No. You do, of course. We all do." I bit my lip. "I just…"

"Wanted to ease my worries, soothe my soul, some such nonsense?" Lucien turned to gaze at me, expressionless. "That's not my way, pet. I won't be satisfied until the true traitor is found and dealt with. Until my name is cleared." I nodded as he spoke, a lump growing in my throat. I hadn't wanted to soothe him, I'd wanted - what the hell _had_ I wanted? I scowled inwardly. It was just strange to see him so on edge, and I found it disconcerting. Did mum feel that way, as well? It was something they shared between them, then, in those quiet whispers while I slept. Fear.

I felt no fear. This was all to strange, too distant for me to understand. All I felt was a distant worry, and anxiety for mum. And - as much as it made me grimace to realize it - for Lucien. I frowned as he sat next to me, frowning from beneath a furrowed brow. "You look puzzled."

"I - I have a lot on my mind." I shook my head, glancing at his arm. The rip in his sleeve showed a mark of the old wound, a scar. "How's that healing?"

"Fine." He rolled his eyes as I took his arm, pushing away the folds of cloth to examine the scar. It healed well - a faded wound, as though it had happened months ago rather than weeks. "Your father taught you, I take it. Abelle said he was a healer."

"…Yes." Another flicker of memory, of papa's face and the smell of wormwood, before I shook it away.

"Odd." A wolfish grin. "I didn't think Argonians had the knack for it."

"Bastard!" I scowled, slapping him half-heartedly on the arm as he snickered, even as a laugh of my own escaped my throat. "You can hardly even _see_ them, and besides, at least I'm not a pale, bastard, half-blooded Imperial son of a - "

"Shut up, pet."

And he kissed me.

Sinking into the straw, his warmth on me, a hand on the small of the back and lips rough against mine. I was stunned for a moment before I responded, body yielding, mind panicking.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit, stop enjoying it, stop_ - my hand snaked its way up to his back, pulling him closer, sinking further into the straw as he half-laid over me, taut. A palm ran down my shoulder, to my hip, toying with my belt as with smirking eyes he pulled away and growled. "Third time's the charm, poppet?"

I blinked, warmth coursing through me, making my knees weak. "Um. Isn't - isn't it your shift? To sleep? I think it is, since mum stayed awake for a bit for hers and you haven't taken yours and…" I trailed off at the realization that I was rambling, clearing my throat.

"And shall I take you to bed with me, pet?" He smirked at my indignant squeak. "Abelle would hang me, which would make it all the sweeter." A cackle as I growled before he took my chin, tilting his head. "Perhaps another time. But, for now, you are correct. For once." He stood, hands slipping from my body to brush straw off his robes. "I'll see you inside."

My fistful of straw hit the door uselessly behind him.

I cursed, laying back on the straw again, glaring at the ceiling before moving my gaze to Shadowmere, who gave me a reproving look. "Your master is a bastard, you know that? And a fetcher, and a git." She only snorted. "Yes, precisely." Third time's the charm - the first my kiss on the cheek bravado, the second his response, and now this.

What was _this,_ exactly?

I sighed, closing my eyes and losing myself in thought before wincing as another droplet hit me, harder this time, frigid water dripping down my nose. I blinked, looking up to see a crack of sunlight.

And eyes.

I didn't have time to scream. The door above flew open, Shadowmere gave sounds of fury, something heavy landed atop me. Cold - cold snow on me, cold boots, cold steel poised at my throat. And a cold, cold voice.

"Impure, impure, he_ touched_ you, the mother-killer-dog. _Hush_, my sweet, or I'll have to silence you. And I don't want to hurt you again." Eyes a shade of rat fur, breath reeking of meat, a hand cold and clammy on my wrist. I shuddered, and stared.

_"You!"_


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Author's Note: **Thank you all again so much for your patience and encouragement! I hope you enjoy this chapter - I'm a bit nervous about it and the ones to come since action isn't my strong suit, but I'll do my best! :D

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_"Me. _And you, two in one, almost, almost…"

The man hovered over me, pinning down my arms, eyes feverishly bright. Face familiar. The man - the man who'd been staring at me, at the meeting of the Black Hand. I searched my mind for a name, shuddering as he stared before hissing and trying desperately to throw him off with a shriek. Shadowmere screamed, lurching up on her back legs before the man threw a spell, making her crumple. I gasped as he turned his stare back on me.

"Shh! Enough." I froze as the tip of his dagger nipped at my throat, cruelly sharp. "Don't make me hurt you, sweet Maria, not again. Soon enough it'll be over, soon…"

"I'm not Maria." I spoke softly, my words severed by the sharp edge of his blade. "You've got the wrong person, I'm not - my name is - "

The man moved abruptly, making me cringe. He stared at the ceiling, face contorted in - anger? Disgust? He spoke above. "Dust, that's _her_ speaking, she will be nothing but ash and dust, my sweet. All the impure will be burned away, and you'll come back to me…"

"You're mad." I spat and twisted furiously as he forced me down again, far stronger. "Who are you?" My eyes fell to his blade. Ebony - with the sprig of nightshade. "…You're of them, too. The Dark Brotherhood. You're the traitor."

"Lies!" He lashed out at my suddenly, his hand closing around my throat. I choked, eyes open wide as he leaned in to hiss. "I wear their mask to stop them, to avenge all they've hurt. My sweet mother, my Maria." He pulled back, hand slowly loosening, to hold my gaze instead. "You see, Maria?" He spoke past me, somehow, to something beyond me. "They force my hand. But someone must take up the sword of justice, someone must…"

"You think killing me will bring - justice? Bring this girl back?" I half insulted, half pleaded, praying my voice didn't betray my fear. "I'm - I'm sorry if they killed her and your mother…" I choked on a sudden lump in my throat before regaining what little composure I had. "…But this won't fix it, this won't…"

"Oh, but it will." He stood, smiling sweetly, baring unnaturally sharp teeth. Jagged and filed, like the teeth of a rat. I shuddered. He moved his gaze upward again, mumbling. "The girl will bring her own mother, and I'll kill her, too, like she killed mine, yes. And the filthy mother-killer will come, and we'll kill him slowly especially, my sweet, slowly and bittersweetly…" He turned his gaze on me once more, eyes bright. "Abelle, and Lachance. You'll stay here, for now, and the Dust girl can listen, listen to them scream as I flay their flesh from their bones, and I'll return for you…"

_Mum. Lucien._ The fear I'd never understood before, the fear they shared, rose jagged in my throat and spilled through my lips as white hot fury._ "Stay the hell away from them, you son of a bitch!" _

He spoke on, speaking quickly, eyes shining. "I'll have Maria back, and we'll run away, and we'll have the family mother always wanted, make her proud, avenge her…"

"You're rambling again, Bellamont."

"Ah." The door creaked open behind us, and his - Bellamont's head perked. I craned my neck to peer past him, trying to make out who had spoken as my breath rushed from me in panic. I could see no one - until the door closed, and the shape materialized, idly gazing at a ring before walking towards us. "You're back. Are you ready?"

"Yes. But I'd prefer not to be here for your revenge exacting and all that nonsense. I shall wait out here, and prepare." That voice, I knew that voice. A distant memory that wasn't so distant at all. My skin crept, eyes open wide and seeing, not comprehending. Robes, dark skin, red eyes cool and careless, attention turned to Bellamont. "Do try not to die, I'm rather interested in finishing this little experiment."

_Experiment_, I thought wildly. _ Experiment_…

Footsteps, and he moved towards me, kneeling slightly, head tilted. Dark bangs over his face, eyes slitted.

"Bolor."

He spoke, though kept his gaze on me before inclining his head. Impartial and cool. "Good evening, Dust."

_This_. I sat petrified, breath frozen in my lungs._ This is unreal, this can't be real, Bolor here and…_

"Stay here, then," Bellamont breathed as he approached the door. "The battle won't last long." An eerie grin. "Abelle, I can kill. Quickly. But Lachance - Lachance will _suffer_. I will take my time with him, and you can prepare the ritual."

I screamed, an inhuman sound, trying to rise only to have Bolor stun me with a spell, forcing me back. "Leave mum _alone_!" I strained, my voice cracking as Bolor knelt beside me. I froze as Bellamont turned, eyes fixed on me like a beast on its prey.

"You'll know." He whispered, slowly and softly, as though telling me some dark secret. "You will know what it is to lose your mother. But then, then we'll be…" He trailed off before casting a spell, cloaking himself in invisibility as he left, muttering to himself and fingering the blade on his side.

"Better to let him alone when he gets like that, I find." I stared dumbly at Bolor as he spoke, gazing at the door, seated lazily in the straw. "I wouldn't suggest running. The mountains are cold, dark and treacherous. You'd likely be eaten by bears, and I've put too much effort into this for something so trivial to stop me." With long fingers he pulled something from his robes - a scroll, scratched with writing and strange symbols. And a soul gem.

"Can't run. I have to help them." I spoke without emotion, as though reciting a lesson. "Bolor…" At last weakness crept into my words. "What's happening?"He eyed me calmly, my throat dredged as I gazed up at him. I thought I should feel something for him, anything - hatred, affection, love - but only confusion stayed with me, confusion and fear. I didn't dare try to escape, or fight._ Stay calm_, a part of me whispered. _Find out what's going on. Plan_. "Why are you doing this?"

"Knowledge, of course. And curiosity. Isn't that what's damned us both, time and time again?"

"…Yes."

"And still, you want to know more."

I looked up again, a cool calmness settling in me. "Yes."

He raised a brow and stood, pacing like a wolf by the door. "There is little left to say. I left, made way for Morrowind, but caught word of something better. I found a clan of Necromancers in a cave nearby. That man - " He pointed his chin to the side, to the cottage - "Came by and requested our services. He wanted us to repair the body of his dead lover. From what I observed, he tried to cremate her and regretted it." As I shuddered at the image, he shrugged. "The body was beyond repair. But he had captured her soul, in a gem. And he made an interesting proposal."

"Maria," I whispered to myself._ I remember now. The missing girl, the Sister_. "He killed her. He's the traitor."

"I pay little mind to their affairs." He shrugged. "But his proposal - to try and revive the girl's soul in another body - was interesting. He needed a young, dark-haired woman. With blue eyes." He focused on me, frowning. "And considering our little relationship, I thought you were suitable to suggest. As I understand it, that Speaker he's always babbling about was to kill you, and to give your body to me. As a favour, to Bellamont, to me." He gazed calmly, too calmly.

_You were my first love,_ I whispered inside. _My first dear friend, my teacher. And now I'm your experiment_. I tried to speak, but couldn't muster the energy. All that seemed so long ago, now.

_What matters now._ The voice spoke again, strangely different from mine. _Focus on now, Dust. Mum, and Lucien. Bellamont must be taking his time, or must have silenced them…_ I shuddered at the thought. _Please be safe. Please._

"So I am to attempt to transfer the girl's soul into your body." He interrupted my thoughts. "It will be a complex ritual, but fascinating for me to attempt."

Because of me?" I finally spoke, forcing sound from my lips. "Did you want to kill me so badly all this time? Because I would have betrayed you?"

"…No, Dust." His eyes softened, and for a moment I thought I saw the man I'd known before it vanished. "Because I value knowledge above all else, and because my art is my first love. I would have liked you by my side, once." He stood upright, a hand against the door. "But that was some time ago."

_He chose. Mum chose._ I dragged a hand over my face before jerking, startled by a sudden crash. _Mum. Gods, mum, please..._

"Ah. That will be them, I suppose." He sighed and leaned back once more. "I am sorry, you know."

I nodded and stood as well, brushing strands of hay that clung to my robe away. He raised a brow.

"…Why J'adore?"

He stiffened, inhaling through his nostrils, closing his eyes. After a long, still moment, he spoke. "It was Bretony. To love, to adore someone deeply. I thought it was suitable."

"Not anymore."

"No."

I gazed at him, lips pursed. "…But not hate, either."

"…No."

"My mum is out there," I whispered. "My - " _My friend? My partner? My infuriating Speaker?_ "…I can't let them die. I have to help."

A breath, through his teeth, tinged into a silvery fog. "Your compassion always was your folly, you know. You could have been brilliant. But it infected all of your work - in my classes, in your progression. With my creation at the university, because it was in pain." He moved, walking towards Shadowmere still paralyzed on the ground, raising a brow and stroking down her side - dispelling?

I cringed at another sound, a hoarse shout. Lucien, or Bellamont? I couldn't tell. "I'll burn my way out, if I have to." I stared at him hard, croaking. "I'll kill you, if I have to."

"Hah." A laugh without mirth, but without cruelty. He sighed. "If you'd paid attention in my lessons, you'd know I resist fire, being Dunmer." He looked upward again, speaking as though to himself. "But this old barn - it would crumble and burn like tinder. You would need to watch for the rafters, but a good Alteration spell would protect you from the flames.."

A shiver moved up me as I stared. "…Bolor?"

"And I, of course, would disappear. I am rather good at that. Should that madman live, I'll be long gone by the time he realizes I survived." Another spell moved from his hands - command. Shadowmere, once baring her teeth as he reached for her, suddenly went dull-eyed. He moved easily, sitting astride." The fire would destroy any evidence I could have left." He threw aside the scroll he'd held, the soul gem, and gazed at me mildly." I believe I shall borrow this fine mare for the journey to the cave, though I'll send her back." A raised brow - critical and sharp and reproving and kind. _Teacher_. "Well. What are you waiting for?"

There was nothing to stop me. Pressing myself against the wall and squeezing my eyes shut, I spoke a single word that licked flames along my tongue and singed my lips, and set the world ablaze.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Author's Note**: As always, thank you for the wonderful reviews! :D Since it's been a while since I've updated and this is a pretty small update, I'm hoping to post another longer chapter within the next few days. Hope you enjoy!

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Fire and ash and smoke.

My spell caught quickly, licking up the rafters, devouring. The stable door burst agape, and in a flurry of hooves he was gone, Shadowmere was gone - _Lucien will be furious_, but a cry jerked me from my thoughts. I ran. Out as the stable began to crumble behind me, smoke building and rising into the sky, thick and black.

The voice spoke again, soft and cool and feminine. _You must fight, daughter of my daughter. Go, quickly._

I burst through the door, into a nightmare.

Darkness, then shapes - a shape of a man and flashing silver, cackling, something small hissing and fighting in the corner, something hanging from the ceiling. The traitor moved in a perverse dance, sword moving in silver ribbons tinged with red around the hanging shape, blood and fluid dribbling down his chin. "And then I shall sing and dance, to celebrate a Dead Lachance! Ha ha ha!" He turned to me, eyes bright and face sickly twisted in a grin. "You, you were to stay put, now you'll have to watch your mother die like _I _did, shall I cleave her in two?" The small shape - _mum_, I realized, a pang of fear bubbling from my gut - crying out as he whirled, catching her stomach with his blade and pushing her back against the wall as she panted. He cackled, raising his blade again to bring it down -

_"No!" _The word tore out of my throat and I lunged, trying to bring my dagger into his back. He turned again, grabbing my wrist, pulling me towards him in one swift movement. _Fight_, my mind screamed, _fight, _even as he wrenched away my dagger. So close - his breath hot against mine, the stench of blood on his teeth. I shuddered even as a paralyzation spell tingled on my fingers.

"You were to stay with the sorcerer, silly girl, Maria can't be hurt, _sweet_ Maria…" He gazed at me, almost tenderly for an instant, before throwing me aside. I stumbled, backing into the hanging shape - a groan, and I fell, something warm dripping onto me. Only then did I look_ up_, and see him.

Lucien. Eyeless. Face twisted in pain, bound and silenced. Gaping holes where his eyes should have been. The blood in the traitor's mouth, the fluid - he _ate_ his eyes. Bile rose in my throat before I was gripped again, dragged to my feet.

Mum's voice - hoarse and cruel as I'd never known it. "Get your filthy hands off my _daughter_!" She lunged, and with a cackle Bellamont swiped his blade - at her knees, not what she had expected, and with a look of surprise she stopped, her legs buckling beneath her with a crack. "Stay here, Abelle, stay kneeling, _pray_ to your Night Mother!" A rabid, hysterical giggle as she cried my name, as the hand in my hair pulled tightly and I screamed, dragged to my feet, towards the door. "You needn't see this, Maria, those eyes must stay pure…"

Into the snow and blistering cold, dragged outside where he gripped me by my shoulders, staring and silencing me as he gripped. "The dog touched you _kissed_ you but I will slaughter him Maria I will _avenge _us, stay here, stay pure. The cold…" I whimpered as he pushed me down to kneel over me, dropping his sword and drawing his dagger. "Did not want to spill your blood, but the girl, Dust girl changes things… be still, this will not hurt long…"

_I'm going to die. Oh gods oh gods oh gods_. I stared up, trying to summon a spell, any spell through his silence -

**Not yet, daughter.**

The voice again, unbidden, soft as satin and dark as night, soothing me. There-not-there, not mine - never mine. I whispered to it. "What?"

"All I want is us, you know." His voice changed, becoming a croak, a shadow. "Let their whore mother lead them, I just want Maria back, just my Maria, make mother happy we can pretend. Red on white…" I stared, shuddering as at the edges of his bloodshot, feverish eyes, tears beaded. "Stay still, my love, _stay still_…"

Mum screaming, calling me name. His breath, his whisper. And the voice again, summoning up all my energy, all my power.

_**Now.**_

The voice burned white-hot, equal parts light and righteous flame. I don't remember moving, or screaming, but I could_ feel_ it - a spell I could never have cast stinging in me, dissolving me to nothing but fire and hatred. A scream, long and piteous like a dying hound -

And silence.


	41. Chapter Forty One

Something burning. My nose twitched as I lay in the snow, nerves frayed and raw, head pounding, light bleeding at the edges of my sight. And cold, beneath me, cold and wet. The stench…

Bellamont.

Or rather, what had _been_ Bellamont. Reduced to something that even still looked terribly human, features contorted into a face of anguish, flesh blackened and charred, his robes still smoking. My stomach lurched and I pulled myself away, crawling backwards, eyes wide and stinging from the rising smoke. I dragged a hand across my face before retching in the snow, gasping for breath.

_Oh. Gods._

_Mum._

I ran back into the house, squinting through the darkness, my voice hoarse. It was like I'd swallowed a flame - the inside of my throat was scorched, and every breath hurt. "Mum? Lucien?" _Please be alive, please be alive, please…._

"Dusty?" A familiar voice and I sobbed with relief, collapsing next to my mother, wincing at her torn and exhausted face. "Sweetheart… I thought… thank Sithis, how did you…"

"Shh." I whispered through tears, moving my gaze over her body and cringing at each wound. A gash in her stomach, her legs twisted from the brunt of the traitor's blade. "Save your strength, maman. Let me heal you…"

"Help Lucien first." Mum grimaced even as the spell began to cascade from my hands into her flesh. "I can wait, love. Get him down…"

I nodded dumbly, gripping my blade and trying to hold back the sickness that threatened to overwhelm me as I gazed up. Lucien - whether unconscious or in shock, I couldn't tell, his eyes only gaping holes. I clenched my teeth to trap a sob before readying the dagger, cutting through the ropes, supporting his weight as best I could as he crumpled. His body was laced with smaller wounds, shallow wounds meant to cause pain, not to kill. I renewed my spell, concentrating and feeling the tug from my energy as the spell fled to each of the wounds, sealing, knitting, weaving -

But his eyes. His eyes, I could never fix.

"You're alive, at least," I whispered hoarsely as I drew my hands away, watching his chin fall weakly to his chest. _Stay alive_. I moved back to mum , grimacing - she'd tried to move and twisted her legs further, and gazed up at me with an expression of mixed amusement and anguish. "Mum…"

"I know, darling, I just hated being helpless. Can you…?"

"I'll have to set the bone, first." Memories of papa's lessons, of putting Sirius's shoulder back into place after he fell off a horse. "…This is going to hurt." Mum nodded and only grit her teeth as, slowly and tentatively as I could, I began to move her legs. She was in pain - terrible pain, but she only allowed herself to whimper and curse. At last it was done and I let my magicka wash over her, soothing the ache and weaving the splintered bone, healing where it had punctured through flesh. Exhaustion tugged at me as I finished, utterly drained.

"Thank you, cherie. Lucien…?"

I couldn't hold back any longer and I gave a choking sob, gazing at mum and gnawing my lip. "H-he's alive. But his eyes - mum, the bastard took his _eyes_."

"Speaker?"

I whirled on my feet, dagger at the ready - a tall silhouette stood at the doorway, own blade drawn. But mum's hand on my ankle stopped me, her voice calm in the peace of healing. "It's alright, Dust. Lucien's Silencer."

"Blanchard?" Lucien spoke at last and I felt my knees grow weak with relief, even as his voice, rough with pain, made me cringe. "Is that you, Silencer?"

"Yes, Speaker." The man - Blanchard approached his master, kneeling to try and help him to his feet. "Sir, the traitor - I have proof, but the Listener, the Listener is dead."

Silence. The room seemed to grow colder, until mum spoke. "When was this?"

"Just before my Speaker was declared a traitor," Blanchard breathed, gazing at Lucien with a mixture of anger and fear. "He was long dead when I found him. The traitor, Bellamont, he assumed his writing and took his place to name you traitor…"

"…And then sent us running here." Lucien nodded, leaning slightly on Blanchard and dragging a hand over his bloody face. "He planned all of this. And the Listener…"

"We must find the others." Mum stood shaking, using my shoulder for support. "We must prove our innocence. We must speak to the Night Mother and cleanse the Brotherhood of this infection."

"So we must. Where are the other Speakers, Silencer?"

"They are gathering in Bravil. To lay our Listener to rest, to anoint a new one."

"Then we must go to Bravil." Mum nodded, her hand clenching tight on my shoulder before going limp. I barely caught her, struggling to support her weight as she groaned. "Damn it all…"

"Mum." All the strength that had been in me fled, and I gave little more than a whimper. "You and Lucien need _rest_. And we have no horse, Shadowmere is - " Lucien's head jerked towards the sound of my voice, and I winced. "…She…she's gone."

"Shadowmere,_ gone!"_

"There was a Dunmer, riding her. I intercepted him and he dismounted without struggle. She's outside, Speaker. She must have run from the fire in the barn and been stolen." I nodded dumbly, playing along with what Blanchard believed truth. Lucien exhaled through his teeth, a sound of relief and annoyance.

"Good. Let us waste no time."

"But…" I trailed off, my argument sent uselessly off into the sky like the billowing smoke as we stepped outside. Even still the stable burned, Shadowmere and another horse near our door, the stench of cremation still thick and suffocating in the air. But Bellamont was gone. "…Where did…"

"I threw the body in the fire. It will burn to nothing." Blanchard moved to the fire, casting a spell to shield him from flame before grabbing a stick of burning wood and tossing it towards the cottage. It smouldered before beginning to burn, climbing slowly up the wall. "There will be no trace of what happened here."

"Hah." Mum laughed quietly, a small smile curving her lip. "Lucien taught you well."

"He did, Madame." Blanchard moved to mum, glancing at me before helping support her weight. "I'll go with her. My horse doesn't trust anyone but me. You take our Speaker, on Shadowmere."

I nodded. Lucien stood by the door, arms crossed, all for the world himself if it weren't for the deep shadows creased into his face, into the gapes of his eyes. I moved to him - before stopping, frowning, my foot hitting something small and hard.

…The soul gem.

A black soul gem. Glancing to see Blanchard with his back turned, helping my mother, I knelt and scooped it up from the snow. It tingled with power, with the song of human life. I shuddered, but - but I couldn't put it down. I slipped it into the pocket of my robe before moving to Lucien, wordlessly taking his hand and leading him to Shadowmere. He moved unsteadily, and hand over hand, bodies close, I guided him onto the mare until he was astride. I expected him to brush me away, stubborn and proud - but what did pride matter?

I moved to sit before him, clutching the reins, watching as Blanchard with my mother resting against him began to move. The stable smouldered to ash behind us, flames devouring the barn. Soon, there would be nothing except black coal against white snow.

Some know Sithis as darkness, utter black, and cold deeper than ice. But I know it as fire - fire and heat and purest white, all-consuming. And through it, opposite and same, separate and intertwined, a sweet, motherly voice.

_Come to me._


	42. Chapter Forty Two

**Author's Note: **Again, thank you all for the support! :D I'm a bit slower now since I'm back in college, but I assure you I haven't lost interest in telling Dust's story. As always, the reviews I receive inspire me greatly. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a friend of mine, Dusty the Umbravita. Thanks for all the support and awesomeness!

* * *

I crouched near the cool water of a spring, dragging my fingers idly through the burbling water. A week to travel - a week, if we could move well, to Bravil. We wanted to push ourselves, push ever forward, but our bodies began to drag, our poor horses slowed, then finally refused to move. So we rested.

At least, most of us did.

I gazed upward, giving a slow breath that turned into a white fog, drifting to the starry sky. It was peaceful - almost pretty, really. The others were asleep, and I had a moment's respite, a moment's solitude. I wanted to sleep properly, to close my eyes and drift away, but the jittering thoughts in my mind wouldn't allow it. I shifted uncomfortably, scooping up some of the water in my palms to splash my face. We were all still bloody, still sore and aching and filthy. What a luxury it would be, to strip off here and bathe, even in the cold. And to get rid of the stench of burning flesh, clinging to my body…

I stood and stripped, letting my filthy robes pool around my feet and folding them on a rock. My boots, my gloves - one by one I placed them all carefully by my side until I sat naked, gingerly dipping my toes into the cool, sweet waters. Lilies lay undisturbed on the water's surface, only a trickle of water not far off feeding the spring. I caught a glimpse of my reflection - the pool was dark and seemed to swallow it after only a moment. Only the reflections of the stars remained. With a quiet sigh I let myself slip in, dipping my head back. Cold, but it felt good. Stripping away the grime and the sickly feeling that had clung to me since I saw the traitor's charred face.

"Dust?"

I jerked, looking over my shoulder and almost screaming at the dark silhouette before recognizing the shape of Lucien's robes. "Wha - oh. I - I didn't know you were awake." I went to cover myself before remembering as he slowly approached, as the dark holes where his eyes had been came to form again. He moved cautiously, as thought testing every step before taking another, following the sound of my voice.

"I am now." He inclined his head, frowning. "… I hear water."

"Th-there's a spring. Just a second, I'll…" I stood, trying to splash as little as possible, my cheeks burning. _If he knew I was…_

Lucien's expression changed, his brow quirking, lips flattening into a tight line. "You're _bathing_."

I stilled. "Um."

"In the middle of the night, when the rest of us are sleeping, in a hostile environment with wolves and boars and Sithis knows what else, you felt it was wise to have a leisurely _bath_." He spoke dryly, carefully lowering himself to the ground nearby to sit while scoffing. "Women."

"You'd bathe too, if you weren't a stinking Imperial pig." I scowled and immediately regretted my words. I'd meant it jokingly, but with his robes still dirtied, face crusted with dry blood, any mirth was drained.

"Of course." Lucien scoffed, shaking his head. I couldn't entirely prevent myself from covering up as I stepped out of the water, tossing my robe over my head, not caring that I was still wet. _Idiot, you should have been watching, not bloody trying to take a bath._ I chided myself, sighing and smoothing down my robes, buckling on my belt and slipping my bare feet into my boots. I grasped for something to say, anything.

"My toes really are webbed, you know." I wiggled them before kicking my foot to make the boot shift around the first foot. I gave a quiet laugh, lifting my foot towards him. "See? …"He raised a brow, the holes of his eyes shadowed , and I cringed._ Idiot! _

A snort. "Very tactful, pet."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He gave a small, mirthless smirk as I studied his face. _He's acting_. His gaunt face, bloodied and scarred, the grizzle on his jaw laced with black where blood had dried. I bit my lip, unbuckling my water skin and dragging it through the pool. "…Let me wash your wounds. It'll help prevent infection."

"Hmph." He grunted, leaning back, lips pressed tight before nodding. "Fine." Wordlessly he began to pull his robes off his body - I gasped, half expecting him to be naked, before blushing - he wore pants underneath. I sighed, dragging a hand over my face before opening my pouch and pulling out a clean cloth. He startled a moment after I brushed it against his face before growling, his expression - as much expression as he could have, without his eyes - settled into one of annoyance.

Blood. So much blood and grime and fluid caked onto his cheeks, beneath the hollows of his eyes. It came away in black flakes on the damp cloth, streaking away. I followed the contours of his once handsome face - his chin and jaw, grimly set. His cheekbones, his proud nose, his thin lips. Small, thin lines carved into his flesh over the years. I frowned, tilting my head - I'd never wondered about his age before. He looked both old and young at once - the face of a man life had tried to beat, time and time again.

"How old are you?" I squeezed the cloth before dipping it again in fresh water, smiling at his scoff.

"Old enough. Perhaps old enough to retire, at this rate."

I frowned. "You don't look_ that _old."

A quiet laugh. "My age isn't the problem. What use is a blind man to the Brotherhood?"

I froze.

He continued on, unnervingly calm as I moved to wash the scars lacing his chest and back. "I cannot fight - perhaps after years of training, but I doubt I would survive that long. I cannot travel alone, now. I cannot even write. I am a lame dog."

"Don't talk like that."

"I imagine I will be put down as such. It would not be the first time we have made such sacrifices." His lips turned, a grim smile. "Don't fret over it, pet. I shall let the Night Mother determine my fate. I will do what I must for the Brotherhood. At the very least, that will prove I am no traitor to all. I will not drain our resources."

"_Stop_ it," I hissed, pulling away the cloth, glaring sharply. "What, you're just going to - give up?"

"Give up?" He scoffed. "No. I'll die with dignity, that is my plan. I - "

I don't entirely remember doing it. Only the moment after, his face marked red, my hand stinging. I swore, grabbing him by the shoulders while he impassively sat. "You bastard, you _cowardly_ bastard, I did not come all this way with you so you could just die with dignity!"

"It is not cowardice." His voice lowered to a growl and I shivered. "It is practicality. I will make what sacrifices must be made, including myself. A lame dog slows down the pack. I will not allow myself to become that, I will _die_ first."

"You'll die for pride!"

"I will die -"

I slipped my hand into his hair, tugging him close without thought. "Shut _up_, Lucien." And I kissed him as hard as I could.

Time passed, and we remained like that. He met my kiss with equal ferocity, then overpowered it, dipping my head back and forcing me to the ground, his hand sliding to lift the small of my back. Neither my mind or body protested, this time - I yielded under his weight, dragging my fingers over his cheek as he pulled away, smirking.

"Odd tastes you have, pet. A man with no eyes."

"I'm not letting you die." I scowled, refusing to let his laugher and smirk weaken me. "I don't care about pride. I don't care what the Dark Brotherhood says, what the Night Mother herself says.."

"Hrm." He tilted his head, and for a flickering moment I almost felt as though he gazed at me, could see the tears in my eyes. "And why is that, pet?"

I had no answer.

"We…" I faltered, moving my hands from his body and grabbing his robe, offering it. "We should get back to camp. Before we freeze."

"Fair enough." He fumbled with the robes for a moment before managing to pull them over his head, giving a weary sigh. "Go to sleep, then. Blanchard will awaken soon - I must speak with him."

"So you can name him your successor, something like that?" He remained silent. He walked alone, without aid, over the smooth rockshelf back to the dying fire. I growled, stalking after him, grabbing his shoulder. "Lucien - "

"Enough." There was no anger in his voice, only a cool calmness. "We will have plenty of time to argue on the way there. I shall be sick enough of you without you badgering me every night."

"…Fine." But I pulled myself close again, wrapping my arms around his waist. Embracing him - embracing Lucien, the murdering, charming bastard. I would have laughed if it hadn't felt so natural, so _right_. "But I'm not letting you die, not after all this. I've worked to gods damned hard." To my surprise his hands moved over me, resting on my back - to hold me closer or to possess me, I couldn't tell which, didn't care.

"We'll see, pet." Dry lips on my brow, a smirk pressed against my skin. "We shall see."


	43. Chapter Forty Three

**Author's Note: **Thanks for your patience and reviews, as always! C: College is a bit hectic, but Dust's story will continue, if a bit slowly. (Also, please excuse any odd formatting - I've looked through this, but FF is being finicky with me and there may be some issues.)

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Small blessings.

A blessing the weather was good, that we could travel quickly. A blessing that in the cool nights, amidst the shade of the woods, we could afford to rest ourselves and our poor horses. A blessing we weren't found, even as the snow turned to rock, rock to grass, grass to bog as we neared Bravil at last.

Small blessings. I didn't know who to thank for them.

"Bravil." Lucien's voice broke our silence at last, jerking me out of a doze. "I'd recognize that stench anywhere."

"Yes, Speaker." Blanchard stared ahead, eyes narrowed. "They will be here, I think. With luck, they'll give us a chance to explain…"

_"Luck." _Mum snorted, her voice hoarse and weary. "I suppose we could call it that, that we live even still."

I only nodded as they spoke, following Blanchard down the rickety bridge to the city gates. The noise around us after silence was strange - crickets chirping, water rippling, trees whispering and wood creaking ominously beneath the hooves of our horses. From time to time I placed a hand on my pocket, feeling the stone of the soul gem inside it. It comforted me, somehow - I felt as though it belonged to me. I fingered it then as we left our horses by the door, mum staggering to her feet and groaning as Blanchard helped Lucien off Shadowmere. I stole a glance, gripping the stone tightly, a voice echoing in my head.

_Come to me._

"Let's - " Mum began to speak, blinking and giving a grunt of pain as her legs buckled beneath her.

_"Mum!"_ I whirled around, but Blanchard was already there, supporting her weight as she gave a weak laugh.

"Saddle-sore, that's all. I can hardly feel my legs…"

"I'll carry you, Speaker Abelle, if that is your wish." Blanchard raised a brow and gave a small smile as mum croaked a laugh, scooping her up as easily as though she were a child. He glanced at me, then, and at Lucien. "And you…?"

I nodded, taking Lucien's hand as his lips pressed tight into a thin white line. He grimaced, and I winced. I half expected him to shout, to tell me to stop trying to lead him around and care for him like a child. But a shiver moved down my back as he gently squeezed my hand. That, somehow, was far more horrifying than the thought of him shouting. Was it tenderness? Was it friendship? Some sign of thanks, before facing the Night Mother? Or was it just a simple measure of comfort?

_What do I want it to be?_

I followed Blanchard as he half-carried mum, aiding her when she moved back onto her feet. Whispers between them - I couldn't quite hear it, over the noise of the swamps, drunken shouts. The city was dark, a ramshackle of planks pinned together overhead lit only by the occasional torch. I swallowed a lump in my throat, looking around as we moved. "What if we're seen…?"

A harsh laugh from Lucien. "That hardly matters now, pet. And the few guards that would patrol this time of night do not - take offense to the presence of strangers. We are safe." The humour in his voice faded as we walked, keeping pace behind Blanchard and maman. "…For now."

Torchlight. A ring of torches. I frowned, squinting as we moved through the battered huts, towards the light. My blood ran cold as shadows became figures - cloaked, robed figures, garbed in blackest black. A woman bowed before the statue, seeming to mutter to herself feverishly, before being jerked out of her reverie by one of the others. She stood, and her piercing gaze moved to Blanchard. "You are late, Blanchard. You - " Her gaze moved past him, to us, and her hand flew to her dagger, eyes flashing. "Traitor! How _dare_ you show your face here - "

"Calm yourself, Arquen." A familiar voice, warm and welcome. Mum's head perked, Lucien frowned as Vicente spoke, shifting the dark hood to reveal his face. "We do not yet know the truth of this."

"The truth, Valtieri? Of course you would defend your own whelps," The High Elf woman hissed, moving her gaze to the others. "We kill him, now." The others only held their torches, faces hidden underneath their cowls. "Obey, you fools, or the traitor will slip through our grasp!"

"With all due respect, Arquen", A harsh voice spoke, tinged with sarcasm. "We obey the Night Mother, not you. And she has not heard your prayers."

_Prayers? _

A sound of rage and disgust from the Altmer. "You ash-skin _s'wit_, I am fifty years your superior and - "

"And I am one hundred and seventeen yours, dear Arquen." Vicente spoke calmly, but I thought I caught a bare glimpse of a smirk.

"Enough of this petty bickering!" I jerked as mum spoke - her voice, before weak with exhaustion, was suddenly strong and commanding. "Blanchard has the proof of your traitor. It was Bellamont, and he lies dead."

"Bellamont?"

"Your Silencer, Arquen, yes." A grim smile from Lucien - he moved towards the circle, torches casting an eerie play of light and shadow on his features. One of the others hurriedly began flipping through the book Blanchard offered as mum moved her gaze to the statue they circled.

"Your eyes…"

"The traitor did it." I was surprised at the sound of my own voice, surprised I'd even dared to speak. "And - "

"Arquen." The Dunmer spoke, clutching the book tight. "They speak the truth. This explains it all, written in blood. His plots. And how he killed the Listener."

"It is a forgery!"

"A forgery he skewered out his own bloody eyes for!" I hissed, feeling a flare of satisfaction as Lucien smirked, only to freeze as the Altmer's gaze moved to me.

"Watch your tongue, little girl. Or expect to lose it to my blade."

_"Enough." _Mum spoke again, her voice so cold, so strange. I shuddered, moving closer to Lucien, watching as she moved towards the statue. I followed her gaze - a pretty carving, of a young woman gazing up at the sky, fat children dancing around her feet. _This - this is the Night Mother?_ "She denied you all entrance? You have not been able to go inside?"

"Correct." Another familiar voice - a Khajiit, the Khajiit who'd called me a serving wench what felt like a lifetime ago. "We have been here for some time, yet we receive no response."

"Let me try."

"What makes you think you will - "

"Enough, Arquen." Vicente spoke again, his crimson eyes flaring briefly in the darkness. "You had your chance."

In the torchlight, my mother moved, casting long shadows as she knelt before the statue, her small body crouched, clothes torn. And quietly, she began to pray.

"Dearest mother, we, your lost and misguided children, seek entrance into your most unholy tomb and womb. We beg, dear mother…"

A dull chorus. "Unholy Matron…"

Lucien murmured it as well - it occurred to me that I was the only one who hadn't. And I was afraid.

The chanting continued, strange words drifting into the sky like smoke. And slowly, something began to change. The statue twisted - becoming deformed, crippled, ugly and strange. From a maiden, to a crone, hunched and wrinkled. The grating of stone made me flinch - an opening appeared beneath the statue, leading into darkness. One by one the Speakers began to silently descend.

"…You are not one of us." Lucien's hoarse voice jerked me out of my thoughts. "The Night Mother may not welcome your presence. Stay outside and - "

"No." Mum spoke without turning, her voice growing distant as she descended into the darkness of the pit. "She will come with us."

That settled it, then. I had no choice, even if I had wanted to stay outside. I wouldn't let mum go in there without me - I had come this far, after all. Still, fear slowed my steps. I couldn't tell whether I was guiding Lucien, or whether he guided me, but I didn't let go of his hand even as we descended.

Dark. A whisper and there was light, cast by the wavering flames of a torch. The room - _no_, I realized, _it really is a tomb_ - was small, adorned with sprigs of nightshade, somehow alive even underground, and the tiny, fragile bones of children. We were crowded together. I must have been trembling - mum placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tight and murmuring a word of comfort before moving, head held high.

"Sweet Mother, we stand before you now. Please, grace us. Anoint a Listener that we may cleanse the sickness the traitor has wrought. "

At first, I thought nothing would happen. The moments of silence moved painfully slow, until I realized that my fingers were growing numb. Even underground in the stifling, wet warmth of Bravil, the tomb became cold as ice. I felt a hand pressing on my back as the others moved to kneel, and followed. I winced, shifting uncomfortably against the stone, shivering as the tingle of magicka made my skin crawl.

I knew then, irrefutably, that she was there. Magicka took form, swirling in place, until there stood before us the form of a woman. She looked like the ghost of any other woman - a mother and wife, small, plain. But the air of power around her made my ears ring. I took a slow breath as the voice, her voice, echoed in the tomb.

"My sweet, foolish children." Her voice was calm and cool, almost pitying. "You have called me, and I have come. You ask me to anoint a Listener? I shall do so gladly." A smile grew on the woman's lips - I dared to look up, catching her gaze for a moment, and felt a thrill race through my body. "Now that we have cut away the rotting flesh of the Black Hand, restoration may begin. I hope you have learned from this, children. In truth, your 'traitor' served my purposes well."

_…What?_ I was not the only one to look up in confusion. She only smiled.

"I knew of Bellamont's intentions from the moment his mother died at our hand. I knew what purpose he would serve. He has sickened the weak among you, and the weak have rotted. Now we carve the flesh, and begin anew. Much is changing, my children - the Dread Father has seen in the reflections of the void what lies ahead."

_She allowed this_. I shuddered, hugging myself for little comfort._ She let all of this happen._

"You have all suffered, and become stronger for it. Allow me to reward my most deserving children." The Night Mother seemed to smirk, her gaze casting over us. I froze as it seemed to focus on me, withholding a sigh of relief as she spoke. "Lucien. Come to me."

Blind, Lucien stood, moving to the Night Mother as though in trance. Maybe he was. I dared to watch.

"Lucien Lachance, son of Sithis, receive now your reward for your loyalty." Lucien bowed his head, and she brushed her fingers against his brow. "The traitor has taken your eyes, but I shall give you a much more precious form of sight."

"You honour me, dearest Mother." The pull of magicka grew stronger - restoration magic, eerily similar to what I'd known at my father's knee in the chapel, healing. He turned, and for a moment I thought she'd only restored his eyes - but they were different. Darker, irises black. They hardly seemed to catch the light. He stepped away, bowing, a slight smile on his cracked lips.

"And you, child. Granddaughter." My breath caught in my throat as I felt her eyes move to me, and remain. "It is time we met." I didn't think I'd moved but suddenly I was there, before her, as though I'd never been anywhere else. "I have so few grandchildren, and it pleases me to see them." She smiled, and with cold fingers touched my cheek. I shuddered as she brushed away a lock of hair, and tilted my chin to force me to meet her gaze. "But you have something that belongs to me."

Panic welled in my throat - I had no idea what she meant, and could only stutter. "I don't - !" I watched, eyes wide as the soul gem I'd kept nestled in my pocket appeared in her hands. "…Oh." The Night Mother murmured something I didn't catch, kissing the stone. It flashed violet, a plume rising and twisting away.

"It is empty, now. But…" The Night Mother gazed at me, slanted eyes glittering. "I would not send you away empty-handed, granddaughter. And I believe - yes." A quiet, almost dainty laugh. "Yes, that will do well." The stone seemed unchanged as she offered it, but as I took it, rolled it in my hands, I felt the weight and warmth of life within.

_Who's soul…?_

"And now, children. I name your Listener."

I stepped away, still shaking, gasping as my back hit Lucien's chest. They all stood, know, watching, waiting, with bated breath. She looked over us, before giving a sweet smile to -

_No._

"Abelle." She spoke at last, opening her arms to my mother. "You shall rule the Black Hand. You shall serve as my Listener." A shiver of disquiet moved through us, and I trembled.

"Dear daughter, come to me."


	44. Chapter Forty Four

**Author's Note: **It's been a while! Sorry for the delay, folks! I tried to make this a bit longer to make up for it. C; I hope everybody had a fantastic holiday!

* * *

The first thing I did when I returned to Cheydinhal was go to the market.

After a fitful night's sleep, remembering in dreams seeing my mum embrace the Night Mother, saying goodbye. _Where is she, now?_ I couldn't know - the Listener's location was secret to me, privy only to her most trusted family members. I gave a quiet scoff at that - not her daughter, but her family.

Still, it was good to be somewhere normal again. No blood, or tombs, or traitors - just peaceful Cheydinhal. Even knowing of its dark underbelly, I was able to forget it for a time. I walked around the makeshift stalls, losing myself in my thoughts, in the chorus of sellers boasting their wares and in the many scents around me. But I wasn't wandering aimlessly - I did have a goal in mind. It was the dull glint of sun on iron that caught my eye.

"In the market for a weapon, girl?" A tall Dunmer leaned over her stall, putting down a half-polished dagger. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm - not really certain, to be honest." I glanced over the weapons, frowning. The woman gave me a smile barely too polite to be a smirk, and I felt a pang of embarrassment, directing my gaze to the blades again. Still, I had to have something. It wasn't only mum's new title I'd thought about, last night.

_She spoke through me._ I shivered, remembering the Night Mother's comforting voice, the power of her exploding from within me, turning the traitor to ash. _But what if she hadn't? If I'd been alone, unable to fight…_

I shook the thought away, setting my jaw._ That's why I'm here, to make sure that never happens._ _To make sure I'm never at someone else's mercy again_. I couldn't rely on the Night Mother again. I didn't know how to fight, but having a true blade, beyond a dagger made for slitting throats, seemed a good first step.

"She'll take the wakizashi."

I jerked at a sudden hand on my shoulder, gritting my teeth as I turned to glower at the familiar smirk behind me. "I can make my own decisions, you know."

Lucien inclined his head. "Trust me, pet. Anything larger you won't be able to handle - anything smaller, you'd be dead before you could get close enough to use it."

I scoffed, but glanced at the stall keeper. She raised a brow, and I reluctantly nodded. As much as I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, he would know better than me. And it was better than risking losing limbs trying to use a blade I couldn't handle. I watched as she began to wrap up the Akaviri weapon before turning to Lucien.

"What are you - "

"You'll want to _pay_ the woman."

I blushed, turning back and rummaging through my bag as the woman only watched, slowly wrapping the blade in cloth._ Damn it, I've barely looked at the thing._ I took it in my arms in exchange for five purses of coin - a good month's worth of potions sold. I sighed, looking back at Lucien, only to watch him walking away.

"Hey!" I ran after him, holding the linen scabbard to my chest. Again he looked so plain, so unremarkable compared to the last time I'd seen him. No black robes or blood - simple, well-made clothes and his hair tied back in a tail. I shook my head, trying to keep pace with him. "What are you doing out here, anyway?"

"I wanted to go for a walk." He didn't look at me as he spoke, striding onwards. To the cover of the sanctuary - a pretty little house, registered as owned by a Miles Garrus, taxes paid, kept clean. A convenient disguise. I followed him down a path I knew well by then, through the basement, to the dark door of the sanctuary.

"I thought you were with Vicente."

"I was." He only stopped when we were safely inside, the door creaking shut behind us. It was only then I realized I'd followed him here, effortlessly, as though I were stepping into my own home. I pursed my lips, glancing around the silent, dim sanctuary.

"You're - feeling better, then?"

His answer came slowly, reluctantly. "I was well enough to begin with, poppet, but Vicente has - aided me in becoming used to my new prowess."

New prowess. "He would know about that sort of thing, I guess." I met his gaze - his eyes, iris gone black since that strange night in the unholy matron's tomb. What they saw, I couldn't imagine. Vicente had told me briefly, as Lucien was resting, what he had told him of his new gaze. Vision beyond what I, what anyone could experience without having been so gifted, or cursed. He could see everything. Every movement, every flicker, to the point where he could predict changes. Not a seer, but enough that any opponent in battle would never be able to draw his blood - he could see their every move before it began. Lucien raised a brow before giving a quiet growl, cupping his forehead.

The curse was that he could see not only the single possibility, but all of them. He had to learn to focus, to centre upon the essential, true changes and ignore the rest. I winced as he massaged his forehead. A lesser man would go mad.

"I should - go." I winced as he growled in pain, glancing at me from under his hand as he rubbed his brow. I clutched the wrapped blade to my chest, biting my lip. "And you should go rest. You shouldn't be wandering around on your own right now, either. What if something had happened, with your eyes?"

I shrunk under his glare. "I am perfectly capable of caring for myself, pet." His gaze softened, moving from my own down to where I held the blade close. "But as for you, you'll be lucky if you don't lose limbs trying to use that. You've never even been trained, have you?"

"It's not like I'd had a lot of opportunity." I grimaced. "I wasn't even allowed to ride horses straddled until mum told my governess to let me. Because my legs would be _spread improperly_ for a lady," I simpered. Lucien snickered as I rolled my eyes. "But I know how to move, thank you."

"Is that so?"

"Well, I took dancing lessons. That's the only time I'm really graceful, mum always said…" I shook away the memory with a wry smile. "But I've seen fencing lessons, at some of the tournaments in High Rock. The movements looked the same - it seems to be about moving fluidly, knowing when to do what, that's all." It sounded foolish, but from what little I knew it was true. Certain steps to be memorized, a certain grace...

"You make it sound so simple." Lucien smirked, gazing down on me and slowly arching a brow. "But perhaps you have potential. We'll find out."

"We will?" I frowned, following him again as he made his way through the Sanctuary, to the training hall. "What are you planning?"

"In due time, my dear. Follow me, and have a look at the blade."

I growled, rolling my eyes as I walked and carefully unsheathing the wakizashi from its linen sheath. I slowed my step as a door behind us creaked closed, running my finger from the handle, to the refined edge of the blade. Beautiful. I knew next to nothing about weapons, but the gleam of it and the thin edge told me enough. Lucien stood still, watching as I dropped the cloth and dared to raise the blade, running my fingers over the rippled, cylinder handle, over the curving metal.

"Light enough for you?"

"…Yes." I paused, slowly raising it up and down, moving it through the air like a twig through water in a child's hands. It was light, enough that I could swing it, if I had to. Longer than my dagger, though not as long as a proper sword. I looked up at the feel of Lucien's eyes on me. "What?"

"Nothing," He remarked, though his smirk spoke volumes. He stepped closer - I pursed my lips at the slight shiver I felt when his hands slid over mine. "It's for close quarters, like a dagger, but it will give you more distance. Generally it's used with another weapon, like a katana, but this will serve you well enough in…" He paused, slowly adjusting my grip and turning the blade in my hands. "Difficult situations."

I nodded as he spoke, feeling my cheeks grow hot as he moved behind me to manipulate my movement. "It looks thin."

"It is. Don't bother using it against heavily armoured opponents. Don't use it at all, if you can help it." He shifted my hands and arms, moving them to balance the blade upright. I gave a little gasp at the sudden rush of his hot breath on my neck, narrowing my eyes at his quiet snicker. "Only use it when you must."

I rolled my eyes, speaking flatly. "Easy for you to say. You didn't just spend weeks worth of work in gold on it." Still, I had to confess the blade felt comfortable in my hands. A bit strange, but comfortable, as though it were something I'd learned once and long since forgotten. I wondered for a moment if Anya had trained with one of these. The thought made me shiver, unconsciously lowering the wakizashi as I lost myself in thought. Only moments latter did the clatter of metal on stone register as I was swept off my feet, suddenly tangled in Lucien's grip.

"Lucien, what the hell!" I grappled at his arm wedged under my chin, his hand encircling my wrists. "Let - me - _go_ - you - _fetching_ - "

"You weren't paying attention, pet." Lucien smirked, releasing me and snorting as I rubbed my throat and pouted. "Come, then. Let's put that blade and those skills you spoke of to good use. Take it, and try to wound me."

I frowned, slowly lifting the wakizashi, trying to find the proper grip while looking Lucien over. The dozens little scars from the traitor's torture had healed easily enough, but some remained, ugly and dark. "… I might hurt you."

Lucien deadpanned. "You will not. Trust me."

I snorted, half-jesting. "Well, if I don't get to hurt you, what's the point of this?" I felt a glimmer of satisfaction at the crooked smile Lucien gave. He only inclined his head, waiting.

_Trust me. _

I took a breath, and with the blade ready, I lunged. And missed - he moved easily, actually pressing his body towards the blade, but trapping it between his arm and waist. We separated, and I tried again.

And missed.

By the end of it I was exhausted, arms aching, panting, sweat beading on my brow. The once light blade had grown heavy in my hands. Lucien, meanwhile, seemed to move as easily as liquid, dodging my attempts, time and time again disarming me. And all of it, without a scratch. I glared, taking a deep breath and trying not to growl at his smirk. _It's just training_, I reminded myself, despite my annoyance. _Just training where he can make me look like a fool, since he can see what I'm going to do, bloody cheater…_

I blinked, feeling a tingle go down my spine. Lucien raised a brow, ready for me. "Well, pet?"

_Cheat. _

We'd never exactly clarified what was permitted, after all. So it wasn't really cheating. And surely there was nothing wrong with putting all my resources to good use?

I gave a breathy laugh, returning his smirk, and lunged. Not with my sword - with my hand, to grab his sleeve and pull him close. Magicka channelled through my fingers, into his skin, and an expression of mild surprise froze on his face as the paralyzation set in through his body. I knelt beside him, taking my blade and placing it carefully above his throat. The scene was familiar - but before, I had been the one paralyzed, with him gloating over me.

"No experience with paralyzation, my dear?" I grinned as his face slowly changed, the spell wearing off. His lip curved into a satisfied smile.

"I hadn't seen that coming. For half a moment, but the spell set in quickly, too quickly for me to react. And I suppose after parrying your pathetic attacks for so long, focusing on those - visions - I simply didn't expect it." A dark laugh. I smirked at that, tilting my head and lowering my blade.

"What is this I hear?" I couldn't resist gloating, not when I had him under me like this, even with my blade dropped. "Are you confessing defeat? Am I the winner of this little ga -?" It took me a moment to realize what had happened - that I was suddenly beneath him, pinned to the ground as Lucien smirked down at me. I blinked, barely managing a squeak of surprise as he snickered.

"Oh _no_, pet. Not hardly."

His hot breath down my neck made me shiver. I searched for words, some clever retort, but the best I could manage was blinking and a quiet, "oh." He laughed quietly, sliding his hand under the small of my back, holding his weight just barely on me._ Yes, very clever, Dust,_ I scolded myself, _Surely he's riled after that,_ but memories flooded and it became difficult to think. Being under Bolor, trying my aphrodisiac, the kiss in Lucien's fort, all those little moments of heat and want, and a sudden urge to reach my arms around his neck and hide that damnable smirk with my lips -

"Now." Lucien traced a path from my neck to my jaw with his lips with a wolfish smile. "Let's review what we've learned."

We did


	45. Chapter Forty Five

**Author's Note:** WHELP, it's been a while, hasn't it?

First of all, apologies are due. I was unsure where to go next and got caught up in life, the universe and everything. Sorry for disappearing! However, Dust is always niggling in the back of my head, and thanks to some awesome, inspiring kindness from friends, I'm ready to continue. The show must go on, after all.

Secondly, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. Each and every one of them has offered me some measure of relief in knowing that my work has gotten a response, positive or negative, and so many of you have been supportive. Even if nobody continues to read (understandable, with the time gap) I'm grateful people did. A special thanks to Mistress Arachnia, awesome friend and inspiration who has HUGELY helped me with getting back on track in my writing. Thanks, MA, and thanks to all of you awesome readers! 3)

* * *

I awoke in my own bed, skin chill with cooling sweat, tangled in sheets, and alone. Too late for moonlight, too early for sun - I slipped out from under the blankets, shivering as my feet touched the cold floor and summoning a quivering little light in my hands. My skin tingled, my hips and legs aching, and blurry-eyed I stumbled to dress, fogged with the memories of…

Pleasure. It had been a long time, since I'd experienced it like that. And so different from what I knew. Not tender and loving, like it was in Bolor's arms, but white-hot, fiery, all-consuming like flame, taking as much as we gave. Memories of gasps and smirks and his dark eyes seeing what I wanted to do, _are you quite sure you can bend that way, pet_… I traced a bruise along my hip, a longing ache echoing through my body. It had been - been -

What had it been?

_Filthy!_

"What?" I blinked, the hairs on my neck raising - a voice. A muffled croak, there and gone as though I'd only imagined it. And terribly familiar. I stood, fixing the last buttons on my blouse, narrowing my eyes at the shadows. _Have I gone mad? I heard… _

_Filthy, filthy, no, no, no the mother-killer it isn't right it isn't fair!_ The hiss became a whimper. No, not in my head - I whirled around - the wakizashi, where did I - "Who's there?" My voice trembled, as much as I tried to prevent it. "Who are you?" _Mother-ki -_

Bile climbed up my throat, my skin crawling. "You. No - you're dead."

_Dead! Dead! If I were dead I'd be with mother, I'd be at peace, I am not dead! I'm trapped. Trapped! I failed, I failed… _

"Shut up!" I clutched my head, grimacing against the invasion of the voice. "You're dead, _dead_…"

There was no reply. Only a gentle hiss, like a candle being put out. My light spell faded, taking any memory of pleasure with it. I_ heard him, I know I did, I know _- I ripped my room apart, searching every empty shadow for a trace of a dead man, long since ash. There was nothing, only a deafening silence.

_I have gone mad._

I took quick breaths, trying to compose myself. No, no, I'm just - tired. I need, need -

_Tea?_

I frowned, following the scent to the kitchen, where Lucien sat leisurely at my table.

"…You're still here."

Lucien glanced up, giving me a slight nod before sipping from a mug. "Good tea- Stonepetal?"

"Y-yes. Vicente gave it to me, said he thought I'd like it and…" I took a deep breath, exhaling and letting every word tumble out at once. "AndIjustheardavoiceinmyheadsayfilthyIthinkI'vegon emad."

A pause. Lucien's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of my words. "…Filthy." A quiet snicker. "You aren't a virgin, are you?"

"No!"

"Pity. I could have used another notch on my belt." He only smirked as I glowered. "Relax, pet. The events of these past few days must have taken a toll on your - delicate state of mind."

"I am _not _delicate, and I am _not_ mad," I snarled without venom, denying even though I had feared the same moments ago. "I know I heard it. It was…" I shuddered, sitting stiffly down at the table as Lucien arched a quizzical brow. _Mother-killer_. "It was the traitor."

Immediately the look of amusement on Lucien's face fled. His features hardened, stare piercing. "Bellamont?" He stood suddenly, shoving the chair away and beginning to stalk across the room. _The assassin I just slept with is stalking across my kitchen, drinking all my tea_. The thought somehow made me laugh, an almost hysterical giggle that ended as quickly as it began when Lucien glared. "I fail to see what is funny. What, exactly, did this 'voice' say?"

"He said - that it wasn't fair. That he wasn't dead, but trapped. And talked about a mother-killer. "

"Me," Lucien nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching in a mirthless smirk that faded as he seemed to slip into thought again. "He is long dead, nothing but ashes. I have never heard of a spirit of wraith as a voice, without physical form."

"Neither have I," I muttered under my breath, cradling my face in my hands before rising to the fire, putting on a kettle of tea. "I'm not exactly an expert on such things." It made no sense - from what little I did know, spirits bound themselves to physical planes, areas that had been significant in life, or the place they had died, not to people. But whatever Bellamont had manifested as when he died, it had followed me, as surely as though I'd carried it myself.

A shiver crawled down my spine. Carried it myself.

The soul gem.

The night mother's voice whispered as it had that night in my head, in echo. _I would not send you away empty-handed_. She had dismissed the soul of the poor girl, trapped inside, and replaced it with...

"Then perhaps you ought to speak to someone who is, pet." Lucien moved beside me, watching as I stirred herbs into the hot water - I slowed, then stopped, meeting his gaze when I felt his hand on mine. There was no warmth, no concern - only intensity that made me shrink. "… What are you hiding from me?"

I pursed my lips, turning my head and stirring the tea and letting steam rise against my cheeks. "You remember, that night, in the tomb - the Night Mother took a soul gem from me. Bellamont had it. It had the soul of - Maria. His lover, I think." I nodded to myself, speaking softly, slowly. "She released it. But she said that she wouldn't let me leave 'empty-handed', and filled the gem again."

Lucien growled under his breath. "You took the gem from him - and you never told anyone?"

"Well, how the hell was I to have known what I carried?" I snapped, whirling on him with a glare. "I had no idea, then. It's not like I decided to carry around the traitor's soul - I wanted to help the poor girl he'd killed. The soul was a _gift,_ apparently, from your bitch of a mo - "

I was cut short by sudden pain and the crack of skin against skin. A slap - not enough to bruise, but enough to hurt, to warn. I blinked, my cheek stinging as Lucien curled back his hand, words slow and deliberate. "You do _not _speak. Of _Her_. That way."

My breath stopped short. I took a moment to speak, blinking away tears. "Get out of my house."

He turned without another word. I cringed at the sound of the door slamming, every muscle tightening before going limp. I sunk into a chair, burying my face in my hands, gritting my teeth. I had been half-joking, but the sting of my cheek made me hiss again, with venom_. Bitch of a mother. Bastard of a son_. I clenched the edges of my chair white-knuckled. _Bastard I shared a bed with, and now this thing is a gift from her… _

A knock on the door and I stood, moving to yank the door open. "I told you to get out of my house, you utter - "

Mum raised a brow. "That's hardly the way to greet your mother."

I blinked, then sighed, anger melting, leaving warmth and relief. "Mum." I fell into her arms before the door could even close, squeezing her tight. "I missed you."

"I was in the city, and I thought I'd stop by and check up on you." She lay a gentle kiss on my brow, looking me over with a frown. "From the look of you, it seems it's good I did."

"I..." I sighed and shook my head, turning away from her. Whose side would she take, if I told her? Her daughter's or her mother's? "It's nothing. Can I get you some tea?"

She sniffed, raising her chin and her brow in a meaningful glance. "You can. And then you can tell me the truth about what's on your mind." I heard the scrape and creak of a moving chair as I faced the fire. The scent of the stonepetal Lucien must have brewed greeted me, making me grimace. _Bastard_. Still, I poured a mug, placing it in front of mum before pulling out my own chair and sitting, unable to fake a smile.

"Stonepetal? Vicente gave you this, I take it." She smiled, but it seemed to be plastered on her lips. Making smalltalk, trying to warm me up. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

"I know that look, mum. Just ask me what you want to know, would you?"

She chuckled. "I can't fool you anymore, can I, dear? Yes, I'm curious about what is so worrying you." She tilted her head, expression calming. "I saw Lucien stalking out of here. He looked furious."

"I'm sure he did."

Primly she picked up her mug, sipping after she spoke. "I'm surprised. I thought he would be quite pleased he had bedded you."

I blinked as mother maintained her calm countenance, only the smallest edge of a smirk tugging at her lip. "I – _how_ did –"

"Your blouse is buttoned wrong, your hair is a mess and to be quite frank, I knew it would happen sooner or later." Another sip and she wasn't able to hold the smirk back any longer. "There is clearly something between you two."

"Oh, yes." My voice dripped with sarcasm. I reached up two fingers to stroke my cheek, no longer stinging but still tender to the touch. "Something like slapping. How romantic."

She tilted her head, brow creasing in a frown. "He struck you?" Her lips pursed. "Hmph. Did he at least have a reason?"

"I..." She raised a brow when I faltered. I sighed and relented. "I... insulted the Night Mother. But!" I stood, hands on the table, pleading my case. "Mum, she gave me the traitor's _soul!_ The soul gem, I took it but the Night mother took it back and it has him inside it and I heard him _speak _to me – "

I trailed off. Her expression was unreadable, unreachable. She shook her head and gave a long, soft sigh. "I understand," she began cautiously, "that you have some right to be angry with the Night Mother, at least from your own eyes. But if you insulted her before me – well. I would have slapped you, too."

It felt like she had struck me – the words stung, taking my breath away. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. "I'm not one of you, mother. And I'd remind you how much She – your kind – have taken from me. And now what she does give me, this – this _maniac_ clinging to me?! I'd throw it away if I wasn't afraid you'd all kill me for rejecting her gift." I spat out the words.

Her voice remained calm, but her eyes hardened. "Dust – "

"No. Don't speak on her behalf, I won't hear it." I hugged myself tight, shaking my head, anger broiling in me bitter and coarse. Was I overreacting? Weeks worth of tension rose in me, overflowing. Anger and resentment at the fear and loss I'd endured, all because of the Night Mother's existence. My father, my teacher, Sirius, the university, and now my mother. I'd tried not to think of it, since we'd come back from that night, but seeing her was enough to make it hit me full-force.

"Dust."

"Just – "

"_Gabriel."_

I froze. It had been _years_ since she'd called me that. If what she'd said before was a slap, this was a sword to the gullet. I shook my head, taking a moment to be able to dredge up my own voice. "Don't call me that."

She sighed wearily, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Your birth name?"

"That father gave me. Not you."

"Yes." She bit her lip. "_Stendarr is my might_, it means."

I gave another half-hearted snarl, turning to face the wall. To face anything but her. "And what did Stendarr ever do for me, either? For father? He's rotting in a shallow grave because your god commanded he die. What use are the Nine, or Sithis, or the Night Mother?"

I could hear the emotion in her voice – a mixture of outrage, pain and, perhaps, empathy. "I cannot explain it to you. I wish I could, but I can't."

I shook my head, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Then don't. I don't need them. I don't want them, Stendarr or your gods. I just – I just want..." A shuddering breath. "I just want to be alone." I sounded childish, but it was the truth.

"Very well." I didn't move until I had heard the door close. Only when I heard it creak shut did I dare move to lock it, to lean against it and fight against the swell of emotions in me. _I shouldn't have argued, but I'm right, I shouldn't have insulted Her, but I hate Her_ – I exhaled through my teeth and made my way upstairs, to my bedroom, to the drawer.

The soul gem lay there, still, silent, unassuming.

As I moved to lay in bed, I heard his voice. The traitor would have sounded comforting, if I hadn't already known what he was. "You don't need them, you know. You _should _hate Her. She took your mother as she took mine, didn't she? Murdered mine, made yours a murderer. I know how it feels."

I listened, remaining silent for long minutes before speaking.

"Shut up," I grumbled, and slept.


	46. Chapter Forty Six

**Author's Note:** I'm so pleased so many are still reading! :D Thank you all for the awesome support!

* * *

"You haven't spoken in a while."

I gazed at the soul gem where it lay quietly in my drawer. I hadn't dared to touch it. The last two weeks the soul inside would, on occasion, speak – ramblings, poetry, advice. Whether I acknowledged him or not, he would talk. I would awaken in the midst of the night to hear soft, cracked sobbing or mad laughter, and it took all my will not to throw the gem out the window.

And when he would speak of his mother, all my will not to pity him.

These last two days, however, he had lain silent. _Is he gone?_ He couldn't be, I knew, but still I hoped against hope. I gingerly nudged the gem, shuddering at the shiver of cold that moved through my fingers and body in response. The gem's surface was dull, at first, but after a moment seemed to gleam as if awakened.

"You do not like when I speak."

I sighed. "No. But I like knowing if I'm yet rid of you."

"Not yet."

I dragged a hand through my hair, glancing out the window. Almost dawn. "Well, I can see that now." Soon, customers would arrive. I would go about my day, making potions, selling stock. Pretending I was just another shopkeep who chose to live in Cheydinhal, pretending these past few weeks had never existed.

"Why do you not get rid me?"

His words drew me out of thought. I turned my gaze on the gem again. "... Because my mother said not to. And I'd rather the Night Mother didn't curse me or have me killed for rejecting a gift." I scoffed softly, muttering. "Even a 'gift' like you."

"You hate her. Not as much as I, but I can feel it." He spoke fervently, almost pleading. "I can feel it, burning off you. Why obey her?"

I snorted. "I said I'd rather not die."

"You know your mother would kill you, if asked."

My blood ran cold. I tried to swallow away the sudden tightness in my throat, glaring at the gem. A truth I already knew, but a frightening one. "_You _would have killed me, too. I'm inclined to think all of you would on a whim." Or on the Night Mother's whim, at least.

"So you'd remain their prisoner?" The traitor hissed. I could almost imagine his expression, the way his eyes would burn the same way they had that night. His words seemed terribly sane in contrast. "That whore's lackey, the mother-killer's _plaything_?"

"I am _not_ his plaything."

"You cried out for him in sleep, last night."

I felt heat creep up my face, over my shoulders. "I'd _appreciat_e it," I managed to snarl, "if you'd kindly shut up."

"I thought you were different. I hoped." The voice grew cold and distant. "You're no better than they are."

"Better them than you." I slammed the drawer shut, and was alone.

_Lackey. Plaything._ His words clung to me as I dressed, as I moved downstairs to reluctantly begin my day. I was angry with mother, with Lucien, but were they using me? As much as I wanted to hold on to my bitterness, to feel justified, time and dreams had gentled it and it slipped away from my grasp.

It was just one stupid argument. I bit my lip, slowly descending. Remembering. Those dark, gaping holes of his eyes, his hand squeezing mine before we faced the Night Mother – did all of that mean nothing?

I didn't give a damn about the Night Mother, that much was certain. But I cared for mum. And, perhaps, I cared for Lucien.

I glanced down as something brushed my foot at the bottom of the steps – a basket of potions, a reminder of my duty to the Sanctuary. _Better to get it over with_. I sighed, hefting it onto my shoulder and making my way to the Sanctuary. There was little enough chance I would encounter Lucien, this early – and in the back of my mind, as memories lingered, I wasn't sure I was so averse to seeing him.

Though the last time I had entered I'd done so as easily as if I belonged, this time I crept through like an intruder. Silently, cautiously. I slowed, then stopped as voices reached me – Vicente, Lucien, Ocheeva.

"Talaendril is with her, as is the entirety of the Kvatch Sanctuary." Lucien, his voice sharp. They were arguing. I frowned, listening close. "And with the Imperial Legion there, we cannot risk sending our own and attracting attention. They will have to fend for themselves."

"I must agree with the Speaker." Ocheeva's hiss. "It is a great loss, but even if we could get there safely, she would be long gone."

_Gone?_

"Then there is nothing more to be said."

"_Nothing?_ Lucien, you of all of us should be willing to seek her out." It was the first time I'd heard Vicente angry, voice taut and harsh. "And what will we tell – " The voice paused, as though in thought. I inched closer to the door of his room before relenting and stepping through. "... Dust."

"Tell me what?" My voice shook. I gazed from one face to the next, both demanding and begging. "What's happened?"

"Kvatch has been attacked." Ocheeva spoke first. "Some sort of – portal has appeared, letting Daedra into the city. And the – " She hesitated. "... The Listener is there."

Listener. _Mum._

"As is the Imperial Legion," Lucien cut in gruffly. "Including Adamus Phillada. We cannot risk entering the city, with both the threat of Daedra and him – "

"And what of your loyalties to your brethren, Lucien? Your Listener? You would abandon them so easily?"

Adamus. Where had I heard that name before? I shook my head, dismissing the thought and glaring at Lucien. "Yes, what of them?"

His returned glare was intense, making my breath catch in my chest. Those black, almost lifeless eyes seemed to bore into me, freezing me to the spot. "You would question my loyalty," he spoke softly, dangerously. "After what you called our Matron?"

A flicker of anger sparked in me, and I thawed from the coldness of his stare. "I'm not loyal to your mother. I'm loyal to _mine_. I'm going."

"Dust – "

"I have to go, Vicente, I can't – " I hushed as a cool hand lay on my shoulder, stilling me. He gazed down calmly, tilting his head. Understanding.

"Take my horse. I would go with you, if I could travel by day, but she is all I can offer. Lucien, show her in the stables."

"I do not take orders from you, Valtieri." Lucien growled, but nevertheless marched past him, leading. I followed, heart racing, mind racing, the soft echo of Vicente's voice making me shiver.

"Sithis guide you."

We moved quickly and, at first, silently. He glared ahead, moving without hesitation out of the Sanctuary and through the city. It was still quiet, unnervingly so. It seemed to suffocate until at last I drew in a breath and broke the silence.

"Why won't you help her?"

Lucien stared ahead, eyes dark, lips taut. "A portal spewing daedra opens, and all you question is why I do not rush to her side?" He scoffed softly, turning away. "Others will come. And should one arrive in Cheydinhal, threaten my Sanctuary, I will be here to defend it. Abelle is more than capable of caring for herself. Perhaps it is you who lacks faith."

_After all we'd been through, after she went with him, defended him _– I snarled. "And what about mu – your _Listener_? What about defending _her_? She followed you to Applewatch, Lucien. She saved your life, warning you. She trusted you."

He pursed his lips, but said nothing.

First, my home. My home that she'd given me. I prepared in a frenzy as Lucien waited outside – potions, rations, a cloak, anything I could think of in the few minutes I allowed myself. The wakizashi – I tried to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth, the heat I felt remembering how I had learned what little I knew of how to use it.

If I had to kill something – some_one_ – could I even manage? This time, the Night Mother wouldn't be there to protect me, possess me. I growled, latching the blade to my belt and losing myself in bitter, conflicted thought. In my room, fastening a cloak around my shoulders, I thought for a moment I was hearing things before I remembered who had spoken to me.

"She is in danger, your mother."

"Shut _up_," I hissed, heaving the bag over my shoulder. "I don't have time for you."

"Take me with you. You'll need me."

I scowled. "The hell I will."

"She needs you. You need me."

I paused, my throat tight. Then, with a growl, I snatched the gem and slipped it safely into the pocket of my robe. I couldn't risk him telling the truth, even as I questioned his motives. There wasn't time to argue. I ran back out, struggling to keep up with the silent strides Lucien made to the stables.

Dawn had passed and the sun began to bleed over the trees, drying the wet grasses beneath our feet. Lucien watched with crossed arms as I prepared the horse he lead me to – a tall Chestnut mare. Saddle, reins, maddening adjustments that seemed to take years but would only slow me down further if I waited. At last I moved to get astride, glaring down at Lucien when he spoke.

"You will never reach her in time. You're a fool."

"And you're a coward." I held his gaze as long as I could, even as it made me bite back a shudder_. Coward. Treacherous, ungrateful coward_. Whatever feelings of forgiveness I'd had that morning dissipated as I turned away. "So I suppose we're even."

I spurred the horse on, turning to the road, to the sun drifting skyward, and didn't look back.


	47. Chapter Forty Seven

I could smell it long before I saw it.

Acrid, harsh and suffocating – the smell of smoke, of destruction. At sunset, after days of exhausting travel, a boiling sky and blackened trees greeted me. The smell grew stronger, Vicente's poor mare giving worried whickers and whines as we grew closer. I ran my hand down her heaving flank, wet with sweat, almost trembling with exertion. We were both sore, exhausted, but pressing on. I whispered to her as blackened towers and billowing clouds of smoke grew on the horizon. "Almost there." Did I comfort her, or myself? I grimaced, trying to keep the caustic smoke from my nostrils, eyes stinging. Her hooves clattered on cobblestone as we reached the main road to Kvatch. To mother.

_Almost there._

Tents – I dismounted, leaving her with a haggard looking woman who tended to the legion mounts already there, restless and pawing at the earth. How long would they have to wait for their masters to return?

I coughed and began my way up the trail.

People sat together in scattered groups, whispering, sobbing, silent. Dull, pale faces drawn with exhaustion. _I should have thought to bring more potions._ I bit my lip, guilt swelling in me. _If I had time, I would stop and help – if only I had time_. But mum was waiting, if she wasn't already -

"Come to _gawk _at our tragedy?" A harsh voice startled me – I followed it to an Altmer, glaring at me with yellow eyes. "As if we don't have enough mouths to feed, enough problems."

"Maybe she has family here, Hirtel." A Bosmer, cross-legged on a tattered mat beside him, sighed.

"I – I do." A momentary spark of hope grew in me. "My mother – she lives here. Breton, black hair, my height?"

The Bosmer shook his head. "Haven't seen her."

"She's dead." The High Elf muttered, wringing his hands, eyes flickering around him. "They _all_ are, trapped in the city. The Daedra – that portal – all of them are dead."

Another voice – this one from within, close to me_. "He may be right."_ They didn't seem to hear it but I did, snarling in response.

"Shut _UP!_"

Eyes on me. I stiffened, cheeks flushing, hands clenching as the two mer gazed at me, as others followed suit. I drew in a deep breath, swallowing it down my tightened throat. "I-I'm sorry." I reached into my bag, bringing out potions – what little I had thought to bring in my rush. "Here. These should help."

I fled from them, then, up the hillside.

The earth itself had changed as I drew closer to the top, becoming blackened and cracked, volcanic. Noise – the sound of clattering blades, of shouts, of a terrible hissing. One hand was on my blade, the other tingling with magick, but my mind was blank. Whatever was up there, it seemed far beyond any hope of me slaying it.

Mother was up there.

I cursed and ran faster. A battle was already taking place at the peak – soldiers, guards of the city, distracted battling creatures – Scamps, Clannfears, Spiders - from Oblivion. From – the Altmer's words sent a chill through me even in the heat as I moved towards it. The portal.

Huge, shimmering, crimson. Like a gaping maw that had broken through the earth, spitting out daedra. Trapping those beyond the gates behind.

"Citizen!"

I turned, eyes widening. A guard marching towards me, red-faced and shouting. "Are you insane, woman? Get back to the encampment, now!"

"My mother is – " I never got the chance to finish. Something, something _huge_ but moving impossibly quickly leapt through the gate upon him. Claws shredding, teeth snapping, scaled tale dragging behind it. He was dead. Shouts from beyond us, screams, but I was frozen in place. The beast turned towards me slowly, eyes glinting, jaws smeared with gore.

My hand moved to my blade, slowly. Too slowly.

It fell on me without warning, giving an unearthly roar that seemed to echo endlessly in my head. _OhgodsohgodsI'mgoingtodiehereI'mgoingtodielikethis mumisnononono_ –

I braced myself for claws, teeth, for my throat to be ripped away. But it never came.

It lay on me heavily, making it impossible to breathe. Dead weight. I gasped for air beneath it, choking on the sickly, overpowering scent of meat from its open mouth. Its tongue pooled beside me in the dirt. I struggled to pull myself out, latching on as a hand grasped my own and pulled me roughly to my feet, the corpse dragged away with a deep wound in the back of its neck.

Black eyes, blade dripping with blood, a satisfied smirk. _"Lucien."_

"And that, pet," he began conversationally, "Is why you are a fool. And why I am no coward."

_"Bastard,"_ I hissed, and held him tight. He grunted, raising a brow when I spoke. "_Bastard_. I thought you weren't coming. I thought – "

He scoffed. "As though you could do this alone."

I snarled, and kissed him.

"Both of you!" A guard, panting beside the corpse of the beast, hissed. "_Idiots!_ Rilian –" His voice broke, harsh and splintering. "_Dead_ because of you! If you had stayed in the camp where you belonged – "

I tore myself away, guilt ripping through me. "I'm _sorry_," I whispered. I didn't dare look at him – at Rilian. Or what was left of him. Bile rose in my throat – I choked it back. "I didn't – I just need to find my mo – "

"We don't have time for them." Lucien cut me off, glaring at the guards before pulling me close. They turned their backs, growling, furious. If we died, it was our own damned faults. _My_ fault the man had died. His voice cut through the shame engulfing me. "I questioned others – no one else has seen her. She would be in the sanctuary, or – "

_"Through there."_

Bellamont. His voice was calmer than I'd ever heard it, but his words – I gazed back at the portal, shuddering. Lucien frowned, taking my chin and roughly forcing me to face him. "What?"

"The traitor." I dragged a hand down my face. "He says she's through that – that gate. The portal."

Lucien's eyes narrowed. He let me go, growling softly to himself. Thinking. "And you intend to trust it, do you?"

"Yes." I didn't hesitate. He was right – as much as I hated it, he was right. I could _feel_ it. Is this what the Night Mother had given him to me for? Was this a gift, after all?

Lucien seemed to be thinking the same. He bowed his head, brow raised. "Then lead the way."

I nodded and turned, facing the portal, half-expecting another beast to come lunging through it onto me. It seemed to emanate heat, ringing with an ominous and strange energy. I slipped a hand into the pocket of my robe, gripping the gem.

"You had better be right," I hissed, knowing he was even as I prayed he was wrong.

And I stepped into hell.


	48. Chapter Forty Eight

**Author's Note: 'Lo again, all! I apologies for my slowness - I just moved provinces and started working, and currently a bout of bronchitis is kicking my butt. I am still here, however, and fully intend to continue!**

For a moment, I thought I was mistaken about dying. I _would _die here. Not under the claws of a monster, but lost in Oblivion. Tumbling head over heels through a breathless, scorching tunnel, unable to find up or down, unable to _think_. But just as suddenly we were there, side by side sprawled on cracked and broken stone. A sky above, solidity underfoot, but unlike I'd ever known it.

The heat was dry and harsh, stinging. My eyes watered. I coughed, heaving in a lungful of air only to end up hacking harder. I became slowly aware of another voice – Lucien, giving a fitful cough as I did before getting to his feet, gazing around us.

The sky was red, churning, punctuated by black spires in the distance. Three of them. I gazed around in a panic as I stood on shaking legs_. She could be anywhere. A tower, below, already –_

_No._ I bit my lip hard, driving away the image, the terrible thought. _No. Don't think like that._

"Dust." Lucien drew my attention, impatient. "Where to?"

"I – " I stopped as another voice interrupted me. It was maddening, how he always caught me off guard.

"_The Western tower."_

"The Western tower," I echoed aloud. _Why should I trust him?_ I grimaced, beginning to move, Lucien at my side. _What choice do I have? Perhaps the Night Mother did give him to me for a reason. Perhaps._

We moved quickly, without words. It was already difficult to breathe. Sweat beaded on my brow, trickling down the nape of my neck, and with each step my breath came harder. If Lucien was uncomfortable as I, he didn't show it. I was thankful, at least, that there seemed to be paths – blackened trails leading to our destination, ornamented by strange, blistering sacs hanging from arches, charred bodies – I forced myself not to stare. Not to think of the poor souls they had belonged to, not to think of the soul I had done that to that guided us now. My steps began to slow but Lucien kept pace, taking the lead onwards as even Oblivion began to bloom. Sharp blades of crimson weed, tendrils of red brambles hanging from an arch above us...

Harrada.

"_Lucien!" _

My warning was a moment too late – the vines descended, wrapping around his limbs, thorns tearing through his robes and into his skin. He cursed and struggled but the tendrils only held tighter, winding around his throat, venomous and paralyzing poison seeping into his blood. A snarl was frozen on his face, a glint of shock in his eyes. Trapped.

"_Leave him." _

"What?! No!" I hissed, reaching for my wakizashi. Awkwardly I hacked away at a vine, eyes widening as it began to grow around the blade. I managed to pull away and they retreated, but remained hovering, sinking deeper into Lucien.

"You'll never cut those vines down," The traitor hissed. His voice was strange, taut, as though being stretched and molded into words against his will. "Your mother is waiting. Dying."

_Dying...?_

"You must reach her!"

Mum. I heaved a gulp of breath, trying to calm, trying to think. If he spoke the truth – _why would he but what if he is_ – mum needed me _now_. I stared at Lucien as he struggled uselessly, jaw too tight to speak, breath squeezed out his throat. _But so does Lucien._

He hadn't abandoned me. I wouldn't do that to him.

"Lucien, don't fight it." I spoke softly, coming as close as I dared. Memories of work, of study, whispered in my ear. "If it thinks you're dead, it will let go."

He couldn't speak, but his eyes said enough. _I will be, soon enough._

Memories. Enchanted gloves, for handling poison – for Harrada. Cold, to make it docile. I began to work methodically, an eerie calmness coming over me as frost magic tingled on my fingers. "I'm going to try and lower your body temperature. You might pass out, but don't fight it."

He glared silently.

"Please. Trust me."

He made a small, discontent grunt, and hung still.

"Thank you." I moved just a step closer, slowly, carefully moving a hand onto his chest. One of the vines clinging to his body seemed to perk up, lazily moving towards me. Like a snake, gorged but willing to take another free meal. As lines of frost began to emanate from my palm, however, it drew away. Slowly, steadily – the spell clambered up Lucien's torso, down his legs, coating cloth with patterns of ice. As though frostbitten, his cheeks and fingers began to pale, ice beginning to form even on his eyelashes, breath coming out in a white puff. The vines receded painfully slowly. If I moved away too fast, they would return full-force – too slowly, and he would freeze.

_Please. Please, let this work._

His weight on me was sudden – I fell forwards, tearing through the now limp vines, tumbling onto the ground with him beneath me. Still stiff, still silent, skin poked and puckered from the thorns. I placed both my hands on his chest, murmuring a spell. Healing, warmth – like a blanket. Distilling venom, closing the punctures while melting the frost. It was exhausting, but still it came naturally. At last he moved beneath me, coughing, hands tightening, colour slowly returning to his face.

I gave a shuddering, relieved sigh. "Thank the – " The Nine? The Night Mother? I rolled off, allowing him to stand properly. "I'm sorry. That – that must have hurt."

He grunted, flexing his fingers. "Better than dying." A grudging thanks. I smiled softly, feeling a moment of peace before I forced myself to my feet. Almost drained of magicka, precious minutes gone, but we were both alive.

"_She might not be."_

"Shut _up_, Bellamont." But he was right. I gnawed my lip. "We need to keep moving."

"Yes." Lucien turned his gaze to the tower, eyes narrowed. "It is – more difficult to concentrate, here. To see." Not to see with his eyes, but his mind – to see possibilities, chances. "Be on your guard."

I nodded, and this time we moved side by side.

There was no entrance to the Western tower itself, not at the base, but high above us thin bridges linked the three ominous spires. We would have to work our way inwards, then outwards over the bridge. I didn't dare think on how. How high it would be, teetering, hundreds of feet above. The doors to the centre tower slid agape with a groan, letting out a gust of heat like an opening maw. I forced myself to concentrate on what was in front of me now – even if it seemed beyond my comprehension.

A beam – a beam of light, of energy, twisting onto itself, seeming to reach down from the very peak of the tower. A molten core, and surrounding it a pathway slowly arching upwards. The ascent was steep, but unguarded, the way already bloody. Daedra lay strewn on the path, skewered, beheaded, cleaved. All of us kept silent, but held the same thought – _we aren't alone._

My gratitude at our swift ascent was tainted by fear. We were rising steadily, higher and higher. _Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down –_

We stepped outside, into the breathless heat, onto the stone platform to the bridge, and I looked down.

The memories flooded back immediately. Trapped and teetering, nose bloody and dripping, the ground so far away and one wrong move, one slip and that would be the end of it. I took a trembling step back, breath harsh and rapid. _I can't. But mum needs me._

_One step._ I held my breath, closed my eyes, and took a single step.


	49. Chapter Forty Nine

"Dust!"

One step, and the world was roaring.

The screech of stone on stone, Lucien's shout, the cracking and rumbling beneath me, it all happened too quickly. Suddenly I was flat on my back, clinging to the stone as best as I could, mind blank of all but fear. The rumbling stopped, but a high-pitched peal continued – only when my lungs burned for air did I realize it was me, screaming. I stopped, coughing hard.

Broken. The bridge had snapped. Lucien rose on the other side of the gap, growling. He – he had pushed me. Seen it coming and pushed me back, onto the safety of the platform. I managed a soft sigh of relief, interrupted by a voice.

"There is another here," Bellamont hissed. I barely heard him, barely registered his words. "Seeking to close the portal. This plane is already falling apart."

_To close it...?_

Lucien gazed back. "What is he saying?"

"Th-there's someone else here. Closing the portal outside." I dragged a hand down my face, dizzy, wanting to retch. "Bellamont? Will we be trapped?"

He didn't answer.

"We don't have _time_ for this," Lucien growled, seeming to appraise me for a moment before taking a step forward, dangerously close to the shattered edge of his side of the bridge. "Jump."

I stood on teetering legs, eyes closed, taking a shuddering breath. Even out of the corner of my eye, I could see it – the blackened ground so far below. "I _can't_."

"I did not come all this way to stop here because you _fell off a tree_," he snarled. I forced my eyes open. "Jump."

I couldn't. Oh, gods, I couldn't but I _had_ to, I couldn't but mum _needed_ me – I took a step forward, half expecting the plane to rip itself apart. "I c-can't!" I bit back a hysterical sob, holding myself tight. "Lucien – "

"Those robes."

I blinked. "What?" My robes, now soaked in sweat and grime. A hazy memory of spilled mead and mocking laughter.

"I gave you them, and you promised me a favour in return. I'm calling in your debt." He smirked grimly, arms outstretched. "You _owe_ me, pet. Jump."

Robes. I gave a hoarse, disbelieving laugh. In exchange for robes –

_I owe him. Mum needs me._

I don't remember having jumped. I remember thinking of mother – of how furious she'd be I'd come here, how proud. I felt warmth, not the oppressive heat of Oblivion but of arms around me, gripping me tight before slowly releasing. Looking back at where I had stood, at the gap I had crossed with wide eyes, and feeling a brief thrill of triumph. But there was no time to revel in it – Lucien pulled me roughly to my feet and we moved on, crossing the bridge, entering the Western Watchtower. To her. To mother.

_"Too late."_

I heard his words, heard the traitor whisper, but I ran on. Another spiraling platform upwards, the world blurring past me. I jerked away from Lucien, running, blood beating in my ears. _Hurry, hurry, hurry. It's not too late, it's not too late –_

I didn't realize how much it hurt to breathe until I stopped, reaching the end of the ascent. The top platform with a drop down the centre, a pit through the spiral path. A cage, hanging, and in the cage –

No.

Lucien was shouting, but his words were meaningless. Another voice, harsh and jagged like the plane it came from, screaming. Clashing blades behind me. I moved dreamlike to the edge of the pit, reaching out for the cage. Shimmering heat swirled around me, gleaming, the sounds of battle distant, and whispered. "Maman?"

She looked tiny, tiny and vulnerable. Stripped of her weapons, her clothes, chin resting on her chest and knees drawn in. I gripped the bars as best I could, dragging it closer, barbs burrowing into the flesh of my palms.

_Nononononono – _

No more shouts. No more battle. Footsteps behind me, stopping. A hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me back.

"You're here, mum." I was begging, begging and desperate and _please_, she was supposed to be here and waiting for me, supposed to kiss my cheek and tell me not to worry. "I can get you out. I can _save_ you."

Lucien's voice, exhausted. "She is gone, Dust. There's nothing we can do."

I held tighter, pulled closer until I was dangling off the edge. A strong hand wrapped around my waist, a growl in my ear, but all that mattered was that she was _here_ and we were so close_, so close_. If I could just reach her, I could save her. The soul gem – the traitor. I needed it for a reason, didn't I? _Please. Please, please_ – I took it and reached out again, my fingers brushing her cold skin.

Cold.

The tower trembled, the world roared. Heat, all-encompassing, but my hands clasped around the soul gem, pressed against her skin, felt cold. Lucien swore, the traitor laughed. _Too late, too late._ The laughing ended suddenly, a shriek began. Everything was too much – too sharp, too loud, threatening to crack apart at the seams.

Too much. Too late.

Red crumpled into black.


	50. Chapter Fifty

**Author's Note: **Hello, all, and sorry for the wait! I know the last few chapters have been a bit short, but I'm hoping on catching up soon. Thank you all for reading. ❤

* * *

"She's breathing."

Breathe. Every breathe hurt. Inhaling sparks, exhaling smoke, slowly surfacing to the sounds and sensations of the world. A hushed, constant pattering, dancing with cold feet along my skin – rain. Racing down my cheeks, tracing my cracked lips, my heat-seared eyes.

_I'm not dead._

A cold hand on my brow brought me back to reality. I forced my eyes open, the world blurry and colourless until a face swirled into view. White hair, blue eyes, a face etched with age and worry, then relief. "_There_ you are. It's alright." I stared dumbly up at him, trying to find words. "Just breathe."

I breathed, inhaling, exhaling, collecting myself in fragments. I knew I was alive. Wet, skin prickling in goosebumps from the cold, but alive. And so very thirsty. I slowly parted my lips, stretching out my tongue to let a few cold drops race down my throat and quench the burning inside. Soft, sad laughter and a waterskin was pressed to my lips. I drank greedily.

"How did you end up out here?"

Out here. Where was _here?_ On a cobblestone road, surrounded by rolling plains and fields, murky blue in the dimness. In the distance was a city – or what remained of one. Blackened, crumbling towers, naked trees and pillars of smoke that refused to be drowned by the rain. The man followed my gaze before glancing back to me, frowning. "Did you run from Kvatch, then? Not the only one. But you were alone here."

Kvatch.

I wasn't in Kvatch, but I had been. Mum had been.

She wasn't any longer.

"Captain Phillada?"

The clop of hooves, an unknown voice. The man beside me shook his head, placing a gentle hand on my back. "Can you stand?" I nodded and he helped me to my feet where I teetered.

"We haven't found any others, Captain, down either side of the Gold Road."

I'd been found alone. Lucien was gone, then, but where? And mum – mum was gone. I half-wondered _gone where_, even as the knowledge of it made me numb.

"Not Captain any longer, Roland." A soft sigh. I felt eyes on me, but didn't look up. "I think this one is in shock. We'll take her to the camp and leave in the morning." He sighed, guiding me towards one of the white horses I'd seen at the city. "I chose a poor time to retire, it seems."

"You've more than earned your retirement, sir."

"It isn't about what I deserve, but what the people of Tamriel need." I was moving again – being lifted astride the horse, the man, Captain-not-captain behind me. He took the reins and the world began to bob around me, colours and shapes bleeding together in soft-hued blues and shadows. I was helpless, mindless. A single thought flared in my mind, making me wince.

_"You must go to Bravil, grand-daughter."_

I felt it, then, a pull in my chest like hooks had sunk into my ribs and were pulling as hard as they could. The name, chanted in my head over and over by a voice, Her voice. _Bravil, Bravil, Bravil._

I couldn't have fought it, even if I had the will. The words forced themselves from my throat, a croak. "I have to go to Bravil."

An exchanged glance between the guards, then an accepting silence. "You can travel with me, then, as I make way to Leyawiin. Do you have family in Bravil?"

Laughter in my head, soft and cruel. I laughed, too. And then, I think I cried.

I don't remember much of the journey back to the camp, or the night I spent there. I remember wondering about Lucien, knowing I should be worried but unable to dredge up the energy. Seeing my hand, the white, raw flesh where I'd held the soul gem so tight, facets impressed onto the flesh of my palm. Mostly, though, I remember the pull. The tug in my body, urging me onwards, making me restless and shuddering until a potion was forced down my throat. I remember laughing again, because the potion was one of my own.

Then, at last, sleep.


End file.
